The Inarian Troupe
by Silver FoxWolf
Summary: A young Redwaller must journey to search for a forgotten clan,at the same time unearthing the truth about his family lineage.But who would help a foxwolf whose rumoured to be the son of a murderer? T for later chapters. DISCONTINUED.
1. Chapter 1

***Ok people, this is the revised edition of chapter 1! Well, considering that the original first chapter did not feel Brian Jacques-ish, I think this is somewhat better, wot? Hopefully, with this rewritten chapter, you'll understand the story a little more than the last time.**

**Disclaimer: Redwall and its concepts are owned by Brian Jacques! The characters are mine, save for a few!**

_****Pleasepleaseplease read all the chapters in my story. Just because the first chapter doesn't seem interesting doesn't mean it's **_**THAT_ sucky..._**

* * *

The sun had slipped into the horizon, taking the light of day with it, and enveloping the land in a cloak of darkness. Nocturnal birds aroused themselves and flew for their nightly hunts. Frilled lizards and their other reptilian relatives retreated from the surface with the departure of the sun, hissing with annoyance and longing to warm themselves on the rocks. Winter was not in their favour.

The grounds of Mossflower country were covered in a thick sheet of ever-white snow; typical when in the middle of winter. Snow had piled atop the branches of rowan, oak, beech and other trees in the forest areas; a few branches had broken under its immense weight.

A tawny owl waddled out of his hole, at the same time kicking snow off his perch. He spread his massive wings and flapped them, readying himself for another hunt for prey. As he flapped, the wind billowing from the wings dislodged some snow above the owl, causing them to fall and coat him with the soft material. The owl hooted twice and shook himself free of the freezing jacket of snow. Huffing and muttering to himself, he waddled out further down the branch until he was near the end. Behind, his mate and chicks lay quiet, sleeping and waiting 'til complete darkness overwhelmed the land, while in front, the final rays of light hid beneath the long stretch of land. It was time.

The owl prepared for his leap.

"They're too close for comfort! Hurry, into that yew thicket!" the sudden cry forced the owl to bounce back in surprise, making the branch bob up and down like a spring-lever. Grunting in distaste, the owl looked downwards to the floor, large and unblinking eyes searching for the would-be intruder… or intruder_s_, judging from the noisy flopping of paws and scrunching of snow.

Three hooded figures came running out of the screen of green-and-white, stopping once to catch their breath before hurrying into the thicket directly beneath the owl's perch. His plumage helped him blend into the snowy evening.

* * *

The figure nearest to the back of the thicket huddled her whimpering bundles, stroking and urging them to be silent. Her emerald green eyes softened with love and fear for their safety, while her dark, bushy tail brushed furiously against the second figure. She wanted to save her young from harm! She wanted to ensure their future!

The second creature was obviously a fox, from the tip of his reddish muzzle to the end of his white-tipped tail. He lacked the evil and cunning most foxes had; this was the rare instance where vermin breeds ever had a heart for other creatures than themselves. He stared at the hidden opening, panting, thinking the next course of action. His dark eyes darted about, searching for any source of inspiration. The same eyes fell upon the still figure of the final escapee.

"Orthias, d'you 'ave a plan, mate?" the fox questioned.

The still figure shifted slightly before pulling back its hood, revealing a furry, blue-black muzzle and pale, amber eyes. White fur was beginning to tinge the area around the eyes; the wolf was older than any of them.

Jerking his muzzle towards the back of their hiding place, the somber-faced wolf drew out his dagger. "By and by, we've to run. But I can't cover all three tracks with those fleeting scum on our tails."

"No, please, Father, don't say that!" the first hooded figure whispered, almost desperately. "What about my children… your grandchildren? What'll become of their little souls?"

The old wolf snapped his jaws, pale amber eyes ablaze with impatience.

The fox took the hood and gingerly pulled it back, revealing the head of his mate; a female wolf, whose fur colour followed her father's, only with a white streak running down from the neck along her flank on each side. The fox held back the tears that threatened to roll down his cheeks. Slowly, he closed his arms around the female wolf and the little bundles, embracing them like it was their last. He watched the bundles; his children. One took the unmistakable appearance of him as a fox, while the other… he was unsure. It was a mixed breed! The fox's face lit up a fraction.

"Dear, look! He's… He's followed both of us!" he murmured proudly.

Orthias couldn't help snap his jaws again. "Listen! That blithering Warlord is closing in on us, and he's sure to track us even in the dark! We need a plan now!"

The fox released his hold on his mate and hurriedly turned towards the darkened forest. His dark eyes burned with untold fury, and the fur on his neck bristled.

"Father, you and my family shall flee towards the east. Cover the tracks with whatever tricks yore dagger can do and make sure they can never find you. I'll lead them in another direction, possibly to the North. Once I shake 'em off, I'll travel eastwards until I find you," he barked.

"Stow that trash, my son! What if they catch you?" the old wolf was not yet pleased.

The fox's eyes were grim with foreboding. "Then… You will both have to fight for my freedom… at the children's risk…"

The female wolf immediately lashed out, scoring a mark in his neck.

"No! You're a fool, Wecrester! Why d'you wish to endanger-"

The fox threw his arms around her, tears coursing through the reddish fur. "Please… Just do as I say… it'll be alright…"

The sounds of more paws running through the heavy snow and cries of battle could be heard, growing louder and louder as the danger came closer…

Again, the fox hugged his mate together with the children, soon joined by Orthias. All eyes were brimming with tears, as thoughts ran through their minds, each one differing yet thinking almost the same thing: It would be a while before any of them saw each other again. Wecrester the fox allowed the female wolf to weep for a bit before turning her eyes to face his.

"I promise, if anything happens, I'll find a way to see the kids one last time before my time or yours... That ferret will regret raiding our village and slaying your mother. After all this, I'll come back to you and Father... and the kids..."

The female wolf's voice was a small whimper when she spoke. "Promise?"

"I promise..."

* * *

Abigail Greycloud and Snow Terrymount were returning from their stroll in Mossflower woods, tired and with the knowledge that evening had settled. The mouse and dormouse babe looked about their surroundings before spotting their beloved home: Redwall Abbey.

"Missus H'Abigail, why be night comin' effweeday?" the little babe asked, staring curiously at the now-twinkling sky.

The young grey mouse smiled and scooped up the dormouse, tickling her footpaw with a finger. "Well, Snow. All creatures need a rest, that's why night comes. The sun's light and heat will vanish for a while so that we could have a nice peaceful rest."

"But why does it _have_ to come when I'm 'avin' fun?"

"Oh, time does fly when you have fun, doesn't it? It's nature that enables the circle of life, my little one. Ooh! Feel that wind; it's becoming very cold now! C'mon, back to the Abbey!"

The mouse dashed through the thick blanket of snow, headed for the red sandstone building that loomed in the darkness with its many lighted rooms. The young mouse grinned with satisfaction as the main entrance came into view, doubling her efforts and speeding forward like a light-footed hare.

The next thing she knew, she had tripped and tumbled, stopping slap-bang into the gate. The gate creaked open, and a brown red popped out to scan the area. Upon seeing the flipped-over mouse, the door was swung wide open and the squirrel gatekeeper helped her to her feet.

"Woo! Why, thank you, Quill!" Abigail gasped.

The squirrel puffed up his bushy tail, almost smiling. "My pleasure. Quite a loud knock ye gave there. Howwy, and it's almost dinner!"

"Food and food, the only thing in your mind and you're not even a hare! Here, I tripped over something when I was running. Take Snow from me first please," Abigail handed the dormouse babe to the gatekeeper before retracing her running path. The sight of a bundle had her calling out to the whole Abbey.

"Dear, dear, deary me! It's a babe! A babe! Mother Niru! Mother Niru!"

* * *

The babe was more suited to the title 'pup'.

It was half wolf and half fox! The pup was mostly coloured blue-black. Its pelt was patterned with creamy white fur, running from the back of its ears down towards the neck, through the underbelly, branching off along the sides in a wave pattern, rounding the hindlegs before ending at the tip of the tail. Its lower jaw was coloured the reddish-brown of a fox, and it had only one paw of the same colour.

As Quill took a closer look at the curious youngster, he noticed a medallion hanging around the pup's neck.

"Mother Niru, he's got a medallion!"

The badger Mother gently tapped it, eyeing it curiously. It was a silver one, with gold rims and some odd scratches in it. "Hmm, I've never seen much of it before… Quill Brownbush! Where're you bounding off to?"

The gatekeeper waved a paw. "To fetch Father Abbot!"

Abigail yanked the energetic squirrel by the tail, almost ready to pounce on him. "He's taking his evening nap; always is before every dinner time! It's not right to disturb him!"

Mother Niru gave a brief chuckle and laid the pup down on her lap, stroking it gently.

"Mind him not, Abigail, I should think he can fetch Nathan instead."

Someone instantly hurtled past the door, tumbling heads over heels as he vainly tried to make his way hurriedly into the room the three Redwallers were in. A jumble of pawsteps later, a young brown mouse came flip-flopping into the room with oversized sandals and habit. Abigail couldn't help giggling.

"Nathan, novice of the Order at y'service, Mother Niru!" the newcomer greeted.

"My, oh my… you remind me of someone with that attire… He lived long before our time altogether…" the great badger murmured, racking her brains for the answer.

"Matthias the Warrior, ma'am?"

"Quill, how could you know?"

Quill Brownbush patted his habit sleeve delicately before leaping all around the room, calling out in a singsong voice, "The Matthias and Methuselah bells have pealed for the evening, hahahaha!"

Snorting with contempt and turning back to the young brown mouse, she smiled wistfully. "Nathan, soon you will be a full-fledged member of the Order… as a Brother. But, d'you mind a side-task?"

Nathan nodded for a while before pointing towards the bundle in the badger's lap.

"Is it that, Mother Niru?"

The badger let Nathan carry the bundle; the would-be Brother looked ready to jump for joy as he pulled the cloth to reveal an adorable and furry face! He knew the young pup was a half-breed – he could see it through the colour of his pelt and the structure of some limbs. But he didn't care. He suddenly felt the love and concern that all young ones needed, and this one, though not purely a single breed, needed the most out of him.

Something else hovered in the mouse's mind, and his brows creased with worry. Turning his head to all in the room, he asked, "Of what breed is he?"

Mother Niru closed her eyes, pawing them gently as if to chase away some nightmare.

"He's a wolf… and a fox together… A _foxwolf_…" she replied almost reluctantly.

"VERMIN! That child's a blitherin' vermin! It's happening all over again; Bryony wouldn't have liked this if she were still alive 'til now!" Quill cried, jumping off the armchair he was seated in. The squirrel gatekeeper's eyes were now fiery with a mixture disbelief and resentment for foxes.

"What does it matter?" Nathan's remark surprised all those in the room. "I'll raise him to be like any other honourable Redwaller, you bet I will. He won't be like all vermin, I promise. Hmm… Wot should I name you?"

A string of answers ensued, each making matters more confusing.

"Blacksnow?"

"Atrocious name, Quill Brownbush! How about Nightwinter?"

"Abby, it sounds girly! This'n is a male! Oh! I know, Whitewave!"

"Not so yourself, Quill. No, Starsky would be better, really."

"NO!"

"Phish-tosh, you and your badger heritage, Mother Niru!"

"Fine then. Quilltole."

"**WHAT! **Don't name vermin after me, tussock-tail! Though that name could be used fer my son…"

"Sunpaw."

"Brownfur"

"Aravende"

"Fleet."

The quarreling Abbey dwellers ceased their bickering and turned towards Nathan, eyes fixed in puzzlement. They watched as the mouse stroked the pup's medallion, smiling most lovingly at his new task. Abigail was the first to break the awkward pause.

"Beg pardon, Nathan. What did ye say?"

Nathan looked at her with knowing eyes. "Fleet. That's what I'll call him… some part of me says that's what his name should be… Fleet."

The pup stirred from its slumber, prodding Nathan's arm with its kicking footpaws. It opened its mouth in a wide yawn and blinked open its eyes. They were the most beautiful emerald green eyes anybeast had laid on. The pup looked up at Nathan and smiled, before burying its small head deeper into the young mouse's habit.

Nathan huddled the pup closer and nodded to the others. "Fleet it is. Heh, even he likes it. I'll be off to the dormitories now."

* * *

Quill stayed behind with Mother Niru, small eyes alight with doubt.

"I don't know, Niru… The young one being half-fox makes me doubt our decision…"

* * *

Outside in the harsh winter night, perched in the bough of an old elm tree, the tawny owl listened as the twin bells of the structure tolled again. He stood stock still for a moment, listening as the soft, booming echo of the bells rang throughout the forest.

He had done what he could. He had saved the wish of the runaways. Now, night beckoned him back to his home.

"I foresee we will meet soon. But when we do, you will be in great peril," the owl murmured, unfolding his wings and taking off, the shadow of Redwall Abbey gradually shrinking 'til it was nowhere in sight.

* * *

_**Seasons later…**_

* * *

Extract from an unknown source, found at a hut east of St. Ninian's.

_We arrived... and were fearful at first... but were reassured by those who have long inhabited the place. They welcomed us with kind words, and their faces were painted with the bright colours of warmth. They allowed us to stay, as long as we agreed to adapt to their lifestyle and defend the village from any mishap. We did. _

_For about a month and two, we basked in our new-found life and blended in with our fellow villagers. They laughed with us, played with us and even pouted with us. The smiles and laughter were not uncommon here any longer, for we had been accepted fully by the village head. Each villager was a member of our family, and none were left to suffer while the other triumphs._

_But somewhere along the way, we just... drifted apart._

_They began to talk to us less, and many a-times were we ignored. They began favouring others over us, and would only attend to us when it was extremely necessary. It was a lopsided affair. As more villagers suddenly fell into this odd trance, we tried hard to hold on to those closest to us. Sadly, majority had fallen into the clutches of this dreary plague. The only people who stayed with us were the village elders and those who were going through the same problem as us. The village head-whom I befriended with closely-had shown the painted face of dislike and disgust as I walked past one day. The feeling was upon me and my troupe. What had happened to this village?_

_For the next few weeks, we had fought hard to retain our comrades. We convinced them that nothing good would come out of joining the other party. And we even held joyous gatherings. But alas, I had lost my closest friend to the "favoured side".T he village head, along with those who I had first trusted as my friends, had favoured him over me. The feeling of dread washed over us all, as we stared horrified by the changes. We were overpowered by the reign of the village head, such that we were nowhere near being able to take back our friends and family._

_We withstood the treacherous truth for many weeks, slowly turning into months. Few of us were on the brink of giving up to the "favoured side" but they held on. The burden of living with those who show no liking for us began clawing its way into the young hearts. One eventually relented and ran to pray-tell-where, despair crashing down upon him. The rest of us could only weep silently when we gathered away from the treacherous antagonist group._

_It went on and on... until, I made my decision..._

_We would leave the village._

_When night fell, we acted. We packed our belongings from the huts that we were given accommodation to. Items that were connected to those who had joined the "favoured side" were either discarded or left where they were. With the small number of us left in the troupe, we slipped out of the village with whatever supplies we could get our paws on. We took one last look at the wretched village, and stood against the moonlit sky. The thoughts of what had happened swam steadily in our minds. The warm and welcoming image of the villagers became that of cold-heartedness and hostility._

_We remembered the ones we had lost within the village, and the thought of my closest friend came. Followed by the image of the village head, and her other three leaders. One of them was rather close to us, but was unable to join us due to his promise as a village leader. With nothing else to think about, we glared down at the once-friendly valley that had turned on us._

_We, the Inarian Troupe, disregarded those who had failed us as our family and never looked back to the village. But, we wanted to know why all this had roused itself within the peaceful community. Why had they turned on us, why they had rejected us...? Where had all this dejection and betrayal come from?_

_That was when it struck me. The one word rang in my head, and my troupe constantly worried about my well-being. But the realisation was so immense, I couldn't help but seethe as it came to my mind time and again. Finally, I dared to say the reasons for all this mishap..._

_...Betrayal had been sent upon us..._

* * *

Fleet flipped the pages again, reading the excerpt from top to bottom to grasp the details. Before he could even read the first line, he heard a mighty thump on the floor. Daring not to flinch, he looked up from the book and stifled a squeal.

"Well, well, well. Wot do we 'ave 'ere, eh? A lil' bookworm in Sister Lina's library!" the deep voice of an otter boomed.

Fleet nodded his head slightly, afraid to utter even a word.

"Get yore tails a-movin', laddie! Lunch'n's 'bout t' be occurring sooner than ye can say 'Redwall'!" the otter continued, nudging Fleet out of the room. Fleet managed a nervous chuckle before he scampered down the stairs to Great Hall. As he did so, he thought about the lines that were written in the old book he found. It was describing a troupe of critters who settled in an unknown village, but something happened that made them divide the troupe into two separate groups. Fleet wanted so much to know what that reason was, but he had two problems. One: he hadn't a clue which season the event happened. Two: it was just an excerpt; Fleet had no idea where the real journal was.

His thoughts were broken as he felt someone bump into him. Then, a cheeky voice sounded, "Hurr, furgive me, maister Fleety. Oi doan't know ye was thurr afore oi boomped inter ye!"

Fleet smiled cheerily as he patted the mole's velvety head. "Ah, that'd be fine with me, Zini, me ole mate."

Zini tugged his nose in embarrassment. It was then he noticed the distant look in Fleet's eyes. "Wot's be in yore moind thurr, Fleety?"

"Huh- I'm sorry, but what?" Fleet asked in surprise.

"Youse be a-thinkin' too moch 'bout things naowadays. Oi reckon you bain't knowing about mole logic, burr aye!" Zini replied with a matter-of-fact nod.

Fleet groaned inwardly, wishing there was such thing as the wrong mole logic. Unfortunately, those didn't exist. Now he had to confide in Zini what was in his mind... unless... he _asked_ Zini... Fleet grinned for a moment, resting a hand on the mole's shoulder.

"Zini, I don't suppose you know anything abou' the... Inarian Troupe?" Fleet inquired in a hushed voice.

"Oi thinks oi know a thing or two abou' ee Inarionee Troupee. Hurr, wot d'ye reckon ye wont with tha' ee knowledge?" Zini answered in a curious tone. He turned around and started to amble down the stairs. "Tha' thurr Troupee be nought but trooble, loike moi momma used t' say to us'n's back in moi Dibbun days."

Fleet curled his tail in thought. Well, looks like he managed to find one person to ask about the Inarian Troupe. But then again, would Zini's mother, old with many seasons of age, remember every word of it? It could be a problem. But he didn't want to think about it yet, not when there was still a chance to learn some of the story from an old molewife. "Hoi! Ye cooming daown, maister Fleety? Oi bain't waitin' if youse stays thurr when lunch'n's served," Zini called from a floor below.

"Could ye at least tell me somethin' abou' the Inarian Troupe, Zini?" Fleet asked, irritated.

"Moind yer manners, maister. Oi'll tell youse when oi feel loike it!"

Fleet rolled his eyes. Getting information from Zini was gonna be a lot harder than he thought.

* * *

**Phoo! That was better. You'll notice that some characters here are not mentioned in the follow-up chapters and there is somewhat no link. YES, BE PATIENT ^^ Uhm okay, the fox's name of 'Wecrester' is pronounced as 'Waycurster'. And the bit where he was saying his final goodbyes to his family... I was listening to "Promise" from the Okami Soundtrack as I typed. I sort of cried. Bottom line: I SUCK AT TEAR-JERKERS! :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**H'Okayyy... I haven't updated in quite a while. No matter, I've been reading more Redwall books, in an attempt to get my concepts straight. Ok, I haven't got it straight entirely. No matter. Here,I write about the other problems being faced by different characters, so I'm not going into the part about the title yet. I fail to mimick Brian Jacques' style of writing so please forgive *bows*. R&R please!**

**Disclaimer: Redwall and its concepts yada yada yada... oh nvm, you know wot I'll write, eh?**

Sister Lina, a middle-aged squirrel, stepped away from the door of her library and slipped into the shadows. She had originally gone that way to proceed to Great Hall, but retracted when she saw Huskfield the otter standing in the doorway.

"Well, well, well. Wot do we 'ave 'ere, eh? A lil' bookworm in Sister Lina's library!" she had heard Huskfield bark. There wasn't any answer to his remark, and she began to feel curious as to who was in the library. She waited at the corner of the corridor, wondering who _was_ in her library. Still, no answer, but Huskfield gave a hearty laugh. "Get yore tail a-movin', laddie! Lunch'n's 'bout t' be occurring sooner than ye can say 'Redwall'!"

Sister Lina could see that the otter was nudging somebody out from the doorway. Before she could even grasp the features, the "intruder" had scampered down the stairs. The rest were just muffled voices and laughter.

"Huskfield!" she called gently as she came out of hiding.

The otter poked his head out from the doorway and chuckled. "Well, g'day to ye, marm. I thought you were already in Great Hall for lunch'n".

Sister Lina shook her head slowly. "No. I was on the way there. That is, until I heard you," she replied in a hushed voice. Huskfield's eyes widened in alarm. He quickly darted brought out a hand to her. "Wot did ye hear?" he inquired politely.

"You found someone in my library. Who was it?" she answered calmly.

"Aw, it's just lil' ole Fleet. He was readin' one o' yore books."

Sister Lina immediately perked her ears, suddenly on high alert. Hardly anyone was allowed to enter the library without permission, especially the Dibbuns and the other youngsters. How did Fleet manage to get into the library in the first place? It was locked up tight! Now that he did unlock the door, which book had he read? Some books were not meant to be read by young eyes. She just had to find out! She excused herself from Huskfield and quickly made her way down to the lunch venue.

…

Great Hall was set and ready for lunch to begin. The table was laid with meadowcream puddings, damson tarts, leek and carrot pasties, ryebread, oatcakes and different cheeses ranging from pale to a mellow yellow. The delectable dishes were accompanied by strawberry fizz, burdock cordial, mint tea and elderberry wine. Much to the moles' delight, their favourite deeper'n'ever tater'n'turnip pie came out hot onto the tables. That wasn't all; a few kitchen helpers came in holding several bowls of steaming maize'n'tomato soup, the newest and most revered dish made by the Abbey's Friar.

The Dibbuns were up to their old tricks; sneaking some vittles into their small habits and acting all innocent. Fortunately, Friar Coylan saw the mischievous antics. "Hoi, ye lil' nippers! Put 'em back!" he barked, tugging at a mousebabe's paw.

"We gets too likkle vittles! We take more fer ourself; we're still likkle Dibbuns!" the mousebabe retorted, stuffing more food into his pockets.

Foremole and Cellarmaster Brilly happened to be rolling a barrel of pennycloud cordial into the Hall when the Dibbuns were stealing away with the food. Foremole gave a chuckle and approached the arguing pair.

"Hurr, youse stop bein' such villyuns and put 'em vittles back where thurr beloong. Be noice t' Friar Cooylan," he coaxed the mousebabe. He patted the mousebabe with a digging claw, smiling a little slyly. "If youse doan't put et back, oi'll have t' foind a noice vermin to help me wit' tha'. A noice vermin wit' shorp teeth'n'claws that deal wit' nought Dibbuns!"

Fearing that Foremole would really bring in vermin to the table, the Dibbuns emptied their pockets and returned the food to where it was, hands shaky with fear.

Fleet had overheard Foremole's threat and growled to himself. Why did he had to use the vermin threat? He felt insulted whenever that was used, because he himself was a _vermin_. Fleet never really wanted to know his true heritage, but sometimes, the daily words of Redwallers regarding villains and vermin and hordes constantly reminded him of his genes. Fleet's father was a fox, but he never knew who it was up 'til now. From what he learnt from Brother Nathan, his father was a heartless fox who never spared a thought for others; traits of a typical fox. His mother was a wolf; Fleet only saw her once, but that was seasons ago, when he was still in that ragged pouch that lay on the cold snowy ground. A shiver went up his spine as he remembered the biting cold that clutched to his fur. (A/N: For me, wolves are goodbeasts )

"Fleet? Are you ok?" Fleet turned to see a young hedgehog looking at him. He blinked rapidly.

"I'm fine, Vivian. Just… thinking," Fleet stammered.

The hedgehog smiled and patted him. "Well, wotever it is, Mother Aniu wants t' see you in the Infirmary."

Fleet stared at him, complete bewildered washing over him. But seeing the look in Vivian's eyes told Fleet that he wasn't to argue. He nodded and started to run for the staircase, calling, "Tell Father Abbot tha' he needn't wait fer me!"

…

"I'm really getting worried about the young'un, Niru," a small voice murmured.

"Snow, my little dearie. There is no need to worry about Fleet. Not when he's such a strong fellow," Mother Niru soothed the dormouse in the seat next to her.

Snow stared glumly at the carpeted floor, thinking deeply about Mother Niru's words. Still, she was doubtful. "But see, he's a _fox_wolf. Foxes are vermin, Mother Niru, everybody knows that. They can be cold-hearted slayers, thieves, robbers… anything that makes them vermin-like! He may even turn on us when he has the chance!"

Mother Niru nodded understandingly, her striped head rippled by the breeze outside. She was chuckling inwardly, realizing how innocent Snow really was.

"Yes, dearie. Vermin a fox is, but pray tell, have you seen him do anything like so?"

"Not really."

"And has he ever been suspected of all felony you can think of?"

Snow thought about it, tilting her head to one side. Then, she shook her head.

"Well, there now. How can you determine what he'll end up as?"

Snow didn't want to give in just yet. She stood up and walked over to Mother Niru. She gently took the badger's massive paw into hers and looked at her with wide, pitiful eyes. "But if you recall, Mother Niru, what happened many seasons ago when a vermin was brought into the Abbey, then I have reason to fear his future," she continued slowly. Snow remembered the story told to her by her grandmother; the story of a ferret who had grown up in Redwall Abbey and was named Outcast in the end, for he had attempted murder on the Friar of that season. She had shivered upon hearing how he tried to hide his misdeeds, and how he chased away all those who tried to help him.

Mother Niru took her paw gently from Snow's grip, smiling. "Veil, yes I remember him. But think again Snow; he saved his caretaker in the end, instead of following the father he knew little of," she whispered softly, having heard footsteps nearby. Snow apparently didn't catch her cue.

"But Niru! What if he doesn't turn out as what everyone in the Abbey would want to see him as? He may have the good nature of a wolf, but in the event where he follows the steps of Veil… what'll happen to him? What'll happen to us?" Snow rambled furiously.

The silence that suddenly engulfed the room prompted Snow to spin around. Her lower jaw tightened and her mind went blank. Fleet was standing there, his blue eyes wide with disbelief. "F-Fleet…" Snow stuttered.

Fleet had gone up to the Infirmary as Vivian had instructed. While he approached the Infirmary, he heard someone talking, but he wasn't near enough to hear. Unfortunately, he had heard Snow's uncertainty of his bloodline.

Mother Niru stood up slowly, holding out a paw to the foxwolf. "Fleet," she began carefully.

"I knew it! One and all the same!" Fleet hissed, pointing a finger accusingly at them. "All you ever do is look down on the vermin breeds! And because I have a fox's blood running through my veins, you look down on me as well!"

Snow hid behind the Badger Mother, frightened of the young Fleet's sudden hostility.

"We'll talk about that later, my little dear. Please calm down and sit next to me," Mother Niru coaxed gently, waving towards a chair opposite Snow's original seat. Pointedly, she added, "Mayhaps you go down for lunch."

Catching on to the hint and frightened of the situation, Snow scurried out the door and practically ran down the stairwell. Ensuring she was gone, Mother Niru turned to look at Fleet. "I called you for something else, Fleet. Not about what Snow said."

Calming himself down, Fleet gave a nod to the badger.

"Sister Lina worries that a book which was not meant for young minds has been read by one. But she is unable to figure out who it was. What puzzles her even more is that the "reader" managed to unlock the door which she had locked up firmly before leaving to the garden," Mother Niru explained the matter with a story-telling fashion. Tilting her muzzle slightly upwards, she continued, "So, Fleet. Which one was it?"

Fleet jerked his head up upon mention of his name. He was listening to Mother Niru distractedly, having thought about what he was planning to do after lunch: Go back to the library and find that particular book again. But it seemed he had been watched.

He shook his head, hoping Mother Niru would understand. But the badger wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. "Fleet, I need to know which book you read. It'll help us know how to prepare for any… "problems" that may arise after you have read it," she pestered.

"I don't know! I never saw the cover, nor did I see the contents! I just flipped a random page and read it, that's all!" Fleet snapped. He cringed, realizing that he was being rude to an elder. Mother Niru raised her brows at him, appearing to be suspicious about his answer which, in reality, she wasn't. Growling to himself, Fleet made his way out the door, remembering to excuse himself from the badger before he made his exit.

Mother Niru sat in her armchair, her mind clouded with thoughts and worries. Fleet was acting almost the same way Veil had seasons and seasons ago. Moreover, it wasn't like Fleet to snap at anyone, even if he was in the wrong. She was starting to wonder whether Snow was right about having to worry regarding Fleet's future. Some creatures just couldn't escape their nature of a vermin. But then again, Fleet had displayed such fondness and kindness towards everyone within the Abbey, that it was hard for anyone to believe he would become evil, even with his half-blood origins. Now with the recent incident, her mind began to trouble itself with the thought of Fleet following a real fox's nature.

"Pray that he doesn't…"

…

Fleet lumbered down the stairs, hesitant on whether to hurry to Great Hall. Half of him wanted to go, as everyone would be worrying about where he vanished to. Plus, he was really hungry. But the other half refused to go. He was afraid that the others had heard about the hostility he displayed towards Snow and Mother Niru and would be talking about him. Fleet halted and sat on the steps, leaning on the wooden rail. Hungry or not, he felt like staying where he was and miss out on lunch. He closed his eyes, feeling more sleepy than hungry.

The moment he closed his eyes, images started flashing in his mind; images that portrayed violent battles, cruel bloodshed and horrid deaths. Each image brought out the feeling of terror into Fleet's heart, and each agonizing sound he heard made him shiver and shake uncontrollably. Something caught his attention; a dark, lone figure standing up high on a hill, raising a curved blade into the air and cackling maniacally. Fleet whimpered, terrified of what he was seeing. Before anything else happened, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, gently rocking him… to sleep?... He wanted to find out what the person was doing, but he was too tired to bother, and he was being soothed calmly until the terror that had invaded his thoughts dissolved away.

"Sleep if you must, young one. You should never be frightened of decisions, and must never let its troubles take over you," a voice, strong and firm, whispered in Fleet's ear. The foxwolf mumbled incoherently, sensing something familiar about the voice, but he had fallen into a deep slumber…

…

"I say, if the young half-breed doesn't brush up on his manners, I'll be more than happy to do it for you, wot!"

Brother Nathan shook his head despairingly, concern evident in his small beady eyes. "No, oh dear, Forty! Don't you call Fleet a half-breed, especially within the Abbey walls! Father Abbot forbids such atrocity, and you are making it worse!"

Fortallamus turned to Brother Nathan with an expression of shock and disbelief. He spun on his heel, facing the mouse with his paws akimbo.

"Good Lord! Making it worse is not my specialty, wot. And I'm stating a fact of what that verm- err, I mean, young'un… is!" he answered with a flick of his long ears.

Brother Nathan knew what Fortallamus intended to say, and quickly smacked the hare's left paw with his own. His eyes were taut with burning fury, and his whiskers quivered with rage.

"Fleet is not a vermin, Fortallamus! He is good at heart, fond to elders and youngsters and kind to those he loves even if they have harmed him or others! How dare your mouth speak vile of the one I raised? I've seen him with my own eyes, and he shows nothing that vermin do! Nothing! As for his origins, never – and I mean _never_ – dare call him a half-breed! That term is viewed as the villain's way of saying 'weak and unworthy', and Fleet is nowhere near that! He's strong! He's worth the love and care Redwall Abbey provides. Could he help being the child of a murderous slayer and an honest warrior?" he challenged the hare with such a firm voice that Fortallamus could only glance at his own footpaws.

"Err… I say, old bean… Ah…

Calming himself down, Brother Nathan shook his head slowly. "Forgive my outburst, friend. Come now. We must not impede lunch."

Fortallamus' features brightened at the mention of lunch, and he was instantly tugging the Brother's habit sleeve eagerly. "I say, lunch sounds good! C'mon old chap, off y'pop!"

* * *

A young hare sat on the rock, watching his companion doze peacefully under the yew thicket. He was dressed in a tattered blue coat with a rope for a belt, and a red-and-ginger bandanna was tied around his neck. His left ear had been stubbed to half its original length, something he wished he'd never think about. Beside him, his younger sister tossed pebbles into the narrow stream, giggling with delight when some displaced water onto her whiskers. He smiled, knowing that he needn't bother too much about making her happy for the time-being.

"Lufius, where are we going?" the younger hare asked as she tossed another pebble.

The older hare remained silent for a while, before suppressing a sigh. "Honestly, Lilip, I've no bally idea. I heard of a place called Salamandastron, where hares like us thrive and be fed well and even stay with the kindhearted Lords there. But we've no clue where it is or how to get there, wot!"

The sun reached its peak and its light shined through the thick canopy of trees, dappling the ground with golden patches that seemed to dance whenever the wind blew. Lufius felt a sensation of loneliness all of a sudden, and turned to look in the general direction of the stream. _Where the stream goes, the sea shall wait. _The words of his long-deceased mother rang in his ears, precious beads of wisdom rolling slowly back into his mind. Where was he to go? Not towards the sea, where Corsairs and other watery dangers lurk and thrive. **That **would be dangerous for his small company. But then, he couldn't be travelling deeper into the forest without any ounce of direction to guide him. Untold dangers could be waiting to ambush them, trap them, or even rob them of their valuables and necessities. Lufius was so deep in thought, that he didn't see his sleeping companion jump on him.

"Lufius, move! Vermin! Vermin are attacking!" his friend hollered, picking himself up.

Half-score of stoats and weasels charged towards them, brandishing daggers, scimitars, knives and long curved blades, and shouting at the top of their lungs. Some of them broke away from the main group and rushed towards the stream, straight where Lilip stood horrified! Bounding to his paws, Lufius grabbed a nearby stone and flung it as hard as he could. The stone whizzed through the air and found its mark on a weasel's temple, knocking him flat. The hare bolted forward, outrunning the charging group and scooped up his sister before turning back towards his other friend.

"Grab the packs and run! Hurry!" he ordered while trying to calm his sobbing sister.

Nearby, the fox Warlord looked at the meager camp gleefully, his cruel, dark eyes shining with mirthful malice. Turning to a band of rats, he gave a single nod to them. The rats surged forward, raising their pikes and heading in the direction of the fleeing travelers.

"M'Lord, I suspect the three to be heading the other way," a husky voice rasped from behind the fox.

The fox turned his head to look, before facing the former direction and laughed. "Run? Escape? _Evade? _HA! You ferrets are muddling beasts, never able to see the obvious when you're being ruled over!" he cackled, whipping around and facing the ferret squarely. The ferret was a head shorter than him, and donned a faded green tunic. The horde's symbol – a wild, savage fox crouching as if it was readying an attack – was embossed into the centre of the tunic. The Warlord smirked, taking small steps towards the ferret. "Jagclaw, Jagclaw, Jagclaw… you've must'n lost yore senses when ye lost yore leadership, eh?"

Jagclaw the ferret could only lower his eyes, embarrassed to go any further. Without warning, he was slammed into a tree, unable to move with the fox's saber at his throat.

"Who am I, Jagclaw?"

"You're Zilus Kig-Yar," Jagclaw answered hesitantly. Glancing into the fox's eyes, he added, "Warlord of the Murderous."

The fox released the ferret and turned back towards the small camp, smiling almost to himself. He shoved his stolen saber back into its sheath, eyeing his horde as they scuttled around the place, looting whatever they could find. He enjoyed terrorizing any creature that was foolish enough to camp within his vicinity. It made his heart swell with pleasure, having been released from the burden of raising a runt of a litter. Remembering that he had new slaves to capture, he rattled his head and pulled his lips back in a snarl. As if no one was there with him, he howled, "Nobeasts escapes Zilus Kig-Yar!"

Lufius' right foot connected with a stoat's jaw, sending him flying straight into the other vermin. The vicious attackers swung their blades at him, threatening to injure him or his sister. _His sister… _Lufius' eyes shot wide open, sudden realization reminding him that his sister was in terrible danger if she was still in his arms. Looking wildly around for his companion, he dodged and weaved through the tangle of shining metal and bristling fur, not losing sight of his friend's tail amongst the blurry scene of villainous ambushers, who was joined by an unsuspecting band of rats. His coat was wet from the tears that flowed from his sister's eyes, making him feel more apprehensive as he glanced back and forth between the vermin and his escape route.

"Lord, we can't run forever!" Lufius cried loud enough for his friend to hear.

Scartail, one of the few ferrets in the group, jeered at him. "Ye'll be our prisoner 'n' slave, haharr! Give up now, rabbit!"

He was answered with a punch in the muzzle from the strong hare, whose gray eyes were intense with fury. The hare aimed another strike, but was stopped by his friend, who came back to help him. "We have to run! Leave him!" he blurted, yanking Lufius by the paw.

Lufius protested, instead shoving his sister into his friend's arm.

"Take her and run! Far away, where it's safe! I'll hold them off," he grunted, facing the wave of armed vermin again. Panicked and unsure of what to do, his friend took to his heels and made a headlong run for the deeper parts of the unknown forest, the despairing feeling of leaving a companion behind clawing into his heart. Turning to see if he was followed, he gasped as the mass of vermin overpowered the hare, who could only cry out in hate. With that, he vanished into the thick foliage, desperate to save himself and the young hare in his arms.

Lufius struggled against the mass of weasels and stoats that tried to hold him down, hurling hateful remarks into their faces. Another rat thrust his spear, stabbing the ground next to his head. Lufius kicked out his long hind legs, catching the attackers off-guard and distracting the others. He wriggled free and grabbed the spear before pointing it at them, his eyes alight with battle. "Stay back, slime-nosed beetle-butts! I dare say you'll be roasting on the wrong side of yore own spear when I'm done, wot!" he provoked the group of villains that outnumbered him twenty to one.

"Beetle-butts! Ha, I'll slice ye t' bits, longears!" Pikeshot, a battle-scarred stoat, challenged, raising his sword. His dark eyes betrayed the surprise that was lurking behind Lufius. The stoat brought down his sword forcefully, missing the hare by a hairbreadth. Snarling with disbelief, he thrashed sideways, swinging his wielding hand left and right, all the while hoping to score a mark on the soon-to-be slave. "Ha, stay'n still ye two-ton grease-paw!"

The stoat fell forwards with a pulsating ache in the shoulder. "Watch yore hindquarters, eh matey? Never know when an enemy might bowl you over. Alright, who's next?" Lufius taunted, hopping back and forth at the vermin group.

"Leave him to me! This addle-brain'll be mine!"

Scartail came running with a weasel in tow, both maddened by the Lufius' antics. The lanky hare sidestepped and stuck out a footpaw, tripping the two attackers as they shrieked in surprise. The ferret leapt to his feet, twirling his sword skillfully before charging the hare again, a wink passing unnoticed to the hare. Lufius pulled back a paw, ready to deliver another punch, but it was held back by the pike-wielding rats. They yanked him backward, before spreading him out fully like a mattress. Scartail grinned savagely, closing in on his target as he pointed his sword directly at the hare's chest.

"I must say, you are smart for vermin," Lufius managed a quick compliment. He watched as the ferret raced across the forest floor, the menacing sword gleaming in the sunlight. He smiled. "But you're not smart enough to outdo a hare! _Grrrraaaaaarrrrrrr!_"

It all happened so fast, that nobeast could tell what happened. Lufius spun about, taking the rats on his right as a shield. At that moment, Scartail rammed into them, his sword went straight through the rats that clung to Lufius. They howled in agony, before sliding down and crumpling on the ground.

Lufius whirled around like a tornado, swinging the remaining rats (and Scartail) off of him and into the nearby trees. None of the vermin moved, not even the deeply angered Pikeshot who glared at him with venomous eyes. Thinking that he won, Lufius slackened his stance and opened his mouth to cheer. Then, something swung out from the trees and whacked Lufius straight in the face, sending him staggering backwards.

In the blink of an eye, the hare was trapped between the strong grips of two full-grown foxes, their amber eyes like stone fire. Lufius, however, was undeterred.

"Lemme go, ye flippin' dog-snouts!" he raged, writhing under their hold.

"Well, well, what a nice long-eared rabbit ye are," Zilus appeared from the crowd of vermin, a withered smile hovering on his lips. "Welcome to my horde."

The Warlord received a mighty kick from the hare's long legs, before he felt a single drop of liquid on his nose. Enraged by Lufius' behaviour, the fox fastened his paw around the hare's throat, baring his teeth. "Insolent scum! I'm Zilus Kig-Yar, and _nobody_ defies me!" he hissed.

Acting surprised, Lufius cajoled sarcastically, "Zilus Kig-Yar? Huh, you're a worthless fox, d'you know tha'? Leavin' family behind, what a Warlord!"

Zilus' eyes looked as if he could burn the hare right there. His paw crept towards his saber hilt, itching to cut it across the hare's throat. But he stopped halfway, a thin smile playing on his face. "You're a good one, aren't ye? Stonedrop, Sharktooth, "he pointed to two stoats respectively, "Git back to tha' camp and watch fer any rescuers! Return to yon den next sunrise!"

Watching the stoats trudge away, Zilus turned to the foxes that held Lufius. Grinning wickedly, he nodded once and made his way back to his hidden stronghold, eyes gleaming with ill-pleasure. The noon sun shone brightly through the trees, appearing as a spotlight following the deadly steps of the vicious fox Warlord.

* * *

Somewhere west of the travelers' disaster, a female wolf walked wearily through the never-ending screen of nature, limbs tired out from trekking for a day and a half. She glanced about the place, keen eyes searching for any signs of a civilization that can offer her shelter. Seeing that there was no form of building nearby, she proceeded onward, head down, one paw firmly gripping her special blade; a rare flame-bladed sword, its edges forged into a wavy pattern, rimmed with hardened amber. It bumped harmlessly against her leg, the dazzling sunlight reflecting off its brilliant surface. Giving it a short look, she chuckled to herself, sounding like a half-crazed warrior.

Trundling noiselessly through the foliage, the wolf mumbled darkly to herself, ignoring the cheerful atmosphere of her surroundings.

"I will slay you."

* * *

**There we go, all nice and updated! Ok,so I didn't go to the part where Fleet was to search for Zini's mom. That'll have to wait. As y'may 'ave noticed,I've made reference to Outcast of Redwall. Do note that my story will have lots of references that are _somehow _connected to my story. As for the Warlord's name, I derived it from Vilu Daskar, while the word 'Kig-Yar' is from the Halo gaming series. They're known to be vicious bandits, something I want Zilus to be :) And another problem: I'm very disorganized when I'm describing battles. Again, please forgive me *bows again* I accept _critique _not _criticism._**

_**Zilus: Quit bowing and git back to work, Foxwolf! *raising saber high*  
Silver: Nay! YAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH! *runs for cover from Zilus' blade***_


	3. Chapter 3

**WAHOO! GERROFF MEH! I've already brought in the conflicts,instead of crawling into it. Okay readers,I apologise in advance if you find my story rather jumpy. As I've said before, I can be disorganised. Bah, I only scored an average of 6/10 for organisation in essay writing lol. Aaand I'm not not that good with mysterious proses that give you the bally directions. Anyway, enjoy this chapter!**

**Disclaimer: (Oi'm a tad layzee t' be wroitt'n et daown. You'll know wot'll be writt'n yurr, burr aye!)**

Whether it was the blazing heat of the noon sun or the agonizing grip administered by the two foxes, Lufius couldn't help keep his own mouth shut, droning on like a madbeast.

"Lemme go, ye blinkin' two-faced, butternosed gnats! I'll show ye a thing or two about messin' wit' a hare!" Lufius growled, writhing about, his long legs kicking at his captors. "C'mon blighters! I'll deal ye a couple more swings and nips afore ye can raise a spear at me!"

The vermin horde seemed undisturbed by the rambunctious hare's dire threats, possibly because most of them were wary after their battle with him. Some were nursing their bruises and jaws with damp leaves while others pawed their weapons, irritated. Aware that a false move from the vermin could result in the Warlord's temper, Lufius continued his torrent of insults and threats.

"Ha! Scumbags like you can't raise a bally claw against a measly hare, wot! Bahahaha! Yore brains are beckoning you to hit me aren't they? C'mon y'low-life ingrates! I'm not even from that famous Fire Mountain, ye c'n takes me down like a helpless mole… err, no offence to any moles in present company that is… Blah, c'mon ye cowardly acorn heads! Hit the Hare! Hit the Jolly Hare straight in the whiskers! No points, just yer paws! Nobody's up for it? Sickening disgrace, all of ye blimey rats and sickening stoats and wiry weasels and fumbling ferrets! And foxes too, tchah! Oooh, you bloomin' beasts call yeselves warriors? Bah, my mother's a better one than any of ye, tch tch!"

Zilus ground his teeth unnoticed, the feeling of annoyance and anger welling up in him and boiling his blood. The hare had been hurling threats and insults the entire time they had trekked from the camp, some of which had somewhat stung the other two foxes who held him tight. Mitusk, the brawny fox with one good ear, seemed ready to blow his top and hack away at the hare at one point of time. The Warlord had ceased him with a quick flick of a carving knife, teeth bared in a show of warning. The sudden submissive action displayed by Mitusk made Yougran, the vixen, chuckle with glee.

"Grarg! Git summat t' stuff yore gob wit', ye scallywag!" Mitusk sneered.

Yougran laughed wholeheartedly, her eyes glowing with the light of teasing. She tut tutted for a while before tightening her hold on the garrulous hare. "And t' think you're my brother; makes one wonder, eh?"

The fox Warlord was in no mood for ill-humored chatter. "Both of you, either snip'n'shut or bark'n'wail!" he snarled, pawing his stolen cavalry saber.

Lufius grinned. "Someone's already in a sour mood during lunch, wot wot? Ha, if ye had battled further wit' me - minus these two foul-breaths – I'd have given ye another two chips to that jaw! But I gave you leeway! CH – burrumph, n-n-no need to put that thing at m-m-my nose n-n-ow…"

Zilus glared the hare down with crazed dark eyes, the light of murder daring him to speak any further.

...

An hour of walking found the Warlord and his horde facing a great willow tree, strong yet withered with age. Its rough bark could be easily scraped off with a flick of the claw. The tree stood about three or four badgers high, with its leafy branches spread out across the forest like an oversized umbrella. Claw marks could be seen etched into the base of the tree; this was where a secret entrance lay, a system of tunnels leading to the very bottom of the willow. The horde pushed forward, with a now-awestruck hare being dragged along with them.

"Ouch! Lord, this tunnel sure is prick- _grrmmph!_" Lufius was silenced with a ball of dock leaves in his muzzle.

He was right; the tunnels were prickly, mainly because Zilus had laid out broken hedgehog spikes along them (all were sawed from fallen enemy hedgehogs), ensuring that anybeast who dared come for him were slowed down with spiked footpaws. The very thought of injured creatures brought a smirk to the fox's cruel features. Wall torches were burning intensely, lighting ominous shadows as Zilus and his loyal followers pressed on down the gloomy tunnel. Wails of terror and screams of pain echoed along the tunnel, sending fresh shivers down Lufius' spine. The terrible sounds reached Lufius' long ears, chilling him to the bone. All sense of bravery had evaporated from him as he began thinking of the tortures that awaited his eyes at the end of the tunnel.

"M'Lord, wot do ye 'ave in mind fer this one, eh?" Scartail had recovered from his earlier brawl with Lufius, and was now walking in pace with Zilus, his green eyes glinting with bloodlust.

Zilus Kig-Yar merely huffed cheerily, exchanging a quick glance with the hare before facing the dim light ahead. "Hmm… Undecided, laddie. Why not you discuss summat wit' Pikeshot and the others? Oh, and ask Jagclaw t' meet me in my room later," he replied with such an eerily cheerful voice, that Lufius began whimpering softly.

* * *

Abbot Tronnal, a gentle, aged squirrel, watched the table contentedly as the Redwallers started gorging on the mouth-watering food. Every other creature at the table helped themselves to the smooth damson tarts, munching down on the pasties and sipping the delicious new soup. They alternated between cordial, fizz and wine with ryebread dipped in soup or ever-so-delicious deeper'n'ever pie. Amongst the bustle of lunchtime feasting, they exchanged jokes and news of the day, even challenging each other to an eating competition. Abbot Tronnal pricked a cabbage leaf on his plate with a fork, his brown eyes clouded with thoughts. The otter-lady seated on his right halted her feasting to take a long look at him.

"Everything all right, Father?" she inquired softly, careful not to raise the others' attention.

"…Hmm? Oh, sorry Mayflower, I didn't hear you clearly," Tronnal answered distractedly. The fork's tine pierced the crisp cabbage leaf, which in turn broke into two. His eyes went wide with surprise. "Now, how'd that happen?"

Mayflower inspected the Abbot's dish before trying at her own cabbage leaf. To her dismay, hers broke into two as well. Duggol, a young mole, pricked his as well, staring in awe at how it split into two neat halves. The dormice next to him squealed in surprise at the findings, followed by the otters seated at the other end of the table. All around the lunch table, Redwallers found their cabbage leaves splitting oddly into two neat halves. As if predicting what would happen next, they hastily resumed their feast, pointedly locking their eyes to their plates. A sudden thought came into the otterlady's mind as she checked the others' leaves as well, making her fume with rage. "Polter! Filto! Broony! You young rips, be here this instant!"

The Redwallers ceased eating, staring up quizzically and fearfully at the otter-lady.

Three young balls of fur tumbled in, donning huge blankets as cloaks and spoons as swords. The oldest of the three, a chatterbox otter named Filto, marched forward a pace and raised his spoon, smiling cheekily. "Hail yon Warriors o' Redwall H'Abbey!" he shouted. His followers, twin mice with a different shade of gray, did the same as well. Their smiles soon vanished the moment they set eyes upon Mayflower's face. Filto faltered under the intense glare.

"Pranksters! Naughty rips! You're more than ten seasons old now, and you're still running around playing tricks on others!" Mayflower barked. She looked ready to fling a fork at them, maybe even worse.

"But we did nought!" Broony, the darker gray twin, replied, fiddling with the spoon in his paws.

"Nothin'? _Nothin'_? See here you little beasts; you've replaced Friar Coylan's fresh cabbage leaves with your trick ones, haven't ye!"

The plump mouse of the kitchens was immediately behind the three trouble-makers, holding them tightly by their ears. His normally happy cheeks turned upside-down in a furious frown, ears erect with spite. "So, 'twas the three of ye young scamps that switch yon leaves! Well, I've lots of chores t' be done in me kitchens, so you're gonna get straight t' et! I'll give ye lunches later!"

Filto and his followers were squealing with pain and fear, begging the Friar to have mercy on them. But Friar Coylan was not one to be messed with in his kitchens, and he had no intention on sparing trouble-makers. He hastily dragged the young'uns to their awaited doom.

Abbot Tronnal put down his fork, staring glumly at the trick cabbage leaves before turning his eyes upward. The inhabitants of Redwall Abbey were still staring up at him, and he knew he had to brush off the matter somehow. "Resume your feast, Redwallers. 'Tis nothing to worry, save for the Dibbuns who'd have the cheek to do as such ever –"

"We won't, Father!" the Dibbuns cried in unison before continuing their lunch. Soon the others joined as well, making a few new jokes about Filto and his crew.

Mayflower turned back to Abbot Tronnal, concern evident in her soft blue eyes. "Something's amiss, Father Abbot, and I must know what's troubling you," she persuaded as gently as she could.

The older squirrel looked at her, shrugged his shoulders and reached for a leek pasty. He nibbled at it slowly, his eyes roving hither and thither as he planned his words carefully.

"It must be what Snow said when she joined us. Oh dear, the very thought of it makes me worry for Fleet's well-being, especially when we know his bloodline _and_ the nature of vermin. I don't… I just wished we needn't think about such things!"

The seats next to Mayflower were soon occupied by Brother Nathan and Fortallamus. Brother Nathan greeted Father Abbot and Mayflower, before pouring himself a flask of pennycloud cordial. "Not as grand as previous seasons, I see, but it's still a feast to my eyes," he remarked to the two. His furry companion, however, wasn't such a mannerist. The hare immediately cannoned into the vittles, cramming puddings, pies, cheese and bread into his mouth and finishing them in an astonishing gulp. Quite forgetting that he wasn't alone, Fortallamus began topping the damson tarts with unimaginable lashings of buttercream, sprinkling a hefty amount of crushed almonds onto it before stuffing the hefty concoction into his open mouth. He didn't stop for a thought just yet; cutting a thick slab of celery-studded cheese, the greedy hare wolfed it down in two bites with the accompaniment of a chunk of the deeper'n'ever pie, followed by an unfortunate oatcake dipped in more buttercream. He sipped some elderberry wine before wiping his lips with a handkerchief.

"Hmm… the moles' pie seems t' be missin' beetroot?" he questioned a kitchen helper as she passed.

The hedgehog huffed disdainfully, almost exasperated to answer the hare's question. "'Ad t' save some of the beetroot for teatime, yes. Unsatisfied? Well, we brought in round two and some additions; redcurrant and bilberry scones and flans with greensap milk, buttercup and apple dips! Honey-crusted arrowroot shortcake with comb honey, vegetable flans, hazelnut 'n' wheat trifles, more damsons and pears and other fresh fruits, otters' shrimp 'n' hotroot soup, ches'nut cheese, honeyed oatfarls, cottage loaves, nutbread, more of Friar Coylan's special soup, apple and pear and blueberry jelly, October Ale, raspberry fizz, plumcakes, blackcurrant pies and wine and not to mention gooseberry cake topped with glazed honey and selected acorns and chestnuts!"

"Ooh, lookit them!"

"Eek! That's quite a menu for the day, wow!"

"Hohoho, jolly lads! Scones and 'Tober Ale t' be served!"

"Ferget tha'! Trifles and flans, along with shortcake and jelly and woohoo-raspberry fizz! That's the ticket to a jolly tummy!"

"Moi momma wudd be shocked t' see oi so plumped after thy lunch'n!"

"Hurr, so wudd yore grandmomma, burr aye!"

"Mista Hol, could I have more guzeburry cakers?"

"HAHA! Lad, take 'em, when Father Abbot says so."

"YEOW! Dagnabit, mate!"

"Quilltole! Apologise to Erian now!"

"Pardon me, marm. But he tried takin' wit'ou' waitin'!"

All the while as the hedgehog helper listed out the menu, the other kitchen helpers were laying the said dishes onto the table, their sweet and irresistible aroma wafting up into the waiting feasters. Mouths began to water, and paws were beginning to twitch. Dibbuns were almost ready to bounce forward and snatch up whatever amounts they could get their paws on, otters were restraining themselves from their beloved soup, mice tried hard not to tempt themselves with the fruity delights, squirrels looked ready to burst with energy at the sight of the towering gooseberry cake with crunchy nuts… just about everyone was ready to spring into the heavenly food. But nobody was as quick as a hare.

Before the kitchen helpers could retract, they were splattered with crumbs, cream, crusts, dips, honey and jelly pieces as the ever-so-hungry Fortallamus dived in and assaulted the helpless vittles. Chestnut cheese was wedged into a vegetable flan and topped with greensap and buttercream. Preparing two plumcakes with arrowroot cake and bilberry scones, the hare held all the delicacies in both paws, grinning to himself before shoving it all into his wide-open mouth. Chewing rather quickly, he took a slice of the gooseberry cake, topping it with buttercup cream and sprinkling it with more crushed almond. The unfortunate cake went down the hare's throat, along with the other massive amounts of food. The hazelnut 'n' wheat trifles were his next victim. Fortallamus popped a few onto his plate – to the surprise of the Dibbuns – and started topping it with meadowcream, greensap, cheese, honey and some nuts before chomping them down like he was facing a ten-season famine. Taking a few sips of the cool blackcurrant cordial, the hare wiped his mouth with his kerchief, acting more like a gentleman.

"Mm mmm, that was very wholesome, I must say," Fortallamus commented. Looking upwards, he realized Abbot Tronnal, Mayflower, Brother Nathan and some of the other Redwallers staring in dismay at him. "Oh, pardon my disgraceful behavior everyone. I didn't mean to… astound anyone…"

"Forty! My dear, you scoffed all that down without acknowledging Father Abbot first! You should be ashamed of yourself!" Sister Pruneleaf chided from the her seat opposite of the hare. Everybeast in the Abbey knew the fiery little mouse-lady to be quick tempered at times. But that didn't stop _the_ Fortallamus Fallowthorn, descendant of Meldrum Fallowthorn the Magnificent. He gulped down an entire flask of strawberry fizz and scoffed down more oatcakes, puddings and pale yellow cheese. A nearby bowl of steamy maize'n'tomato soup became his next target. The gluttonous hare tilted the bowl into his mouth, the creamy taste enveloping his tingling tongue that vied for more delicious delicacies. A plate of carrot pasties was soon down his throat.

Wiping his lips again, Fortallamus smiled at Sister Pruneleaf.

"Please accept my dearest condolences, Sister Pruneleaf, O Kindly one o' the Abbey!"

Brother Nathan chuckled to himself as he helped himself to the maize'n'tomato soup. He sipped it delicately, almost ready to giggle at his own joke. Setting his spoon down, the mouse gazed at the hare with a knowing look. "Yes, yes, Fortallamus. You must eat like me: delicate, slow and non-glutton," he explained in a rather serious tone.

"_Non-glutton_?" Fortallamus squeaked in disbelief.

"Where's Amrun? Bally Gatekeeper is there such word as non-glutton?" the hare demanded the aged hedgehog on Tronnal's left.

The old hedgehog seemed to not hear the hare. He daintily sipped his mint tea before turning to the hare. "Unfortunately for you, yes there is. Though that word has stowed itself away for seasons now… Hmm mm, Abbot Tronnal? Have you seen the young Fleet?" Amrun suddenly brought up the subject of Fleet.

The squirrel Abbot sat still for a while, before inclining his head towards Brother Nathan, who was busy slicing a hunk of nutcheese for a Dibbun. The quaint mouse looked up from his job and raised his eyebrows. "Fleet? I haven't seen him, really," he chortled, having cut the cheese a bit too big for the Dibbun, who was now giggling in delight.

"Oi were wit' maister Fleety nought to long ago. He was in yon librurrury afore he boomped inter oi," Zini spoke up, waving a blunt digging claw.

"Hmm… I remember asking him to see Mother Niru before lunch started. But… Mother Niru's here?" Vivian added from beside Fortallamus.

The great badger was obviously worried. "Dear, oh dear… He left the Infirmary before I finished. Poor boy, he was deeply sorrowed by something I'm not sure of."

Sister Lina had her head in a paw, her lovely brown eyes dull with worry.

"I locked the library and he somehow got in. Now, he thinks he's being doubted and is nowhere to be seen. My poor soul, where did the young'un go?"

Abbot Tronnal couldn't resist a joke. "Very wonderful poem, my dear sister."

Despite his high status as Father Abbot, the latter received a mighty twist of the ear from his sister.

…

Fleet found himself at the door of the library again, gazing at its fine, oak doors. Some part of him felt light and dreamy. He looked down at himself, his innocent green eyes widening in awe at the sight of him being transparent. Was he dreaming or something? _I'm not dead… am I?_

"No young one, you're not. Please. Enter the library," the same voice Fleet had heard earlier beckoned to him.

The foxwolf was hesitant at first, wondering whether the door was locked and he would be "accused" of breaking in again. He looked about the corridor, thinking if anyone was coming up. He dearly wished so; he wanted to be sure someone could still see him and help him out of this weird trance. Strangely, Fleet noticed, everything seemed to have frozen in time. Sunlit dust particles were evidently locked in their airborne positions, curtains that were supposed to be flying on this windy day stopped at an angle, and birds that had settled on the ledges and were trilling had frozen as well. The Abbey _was _frozen in time. The weird sightings of once-moving objects glued to their current position awed the young Redwaller. Fleet huffed, turning back to the door and contemplating on opening it. His paw strayed towards the doorknob, the grayish fur prickling with apprehension as it inched closer and closer to the golden knob.

Slowly, he turned it, feeling the odd sensation of joy at the prospect of being able to investigate the library again without anyone disturbing him. He slunk into the room, his sharp green eyes searching for the old, dusty book he had held on to earlier that day. After much searching, he found it tucked neatly between two thick dictionaries.

Gingerly removing the desired book from its place, Fleet plopped down into the big chair that belonged to Mother Niru. He flipped the pages again, finding the excerpt he had stumbled upon not too long ago. _Aha._

"Now what were they called again?..." Fleet muttered as he ran a finger down the lines of the excerpt. "Ah, yes. They're called The Inarian Troupe. Hmph, wonder if Sister Lina has any book on 'em."

Fleet began flipping through the other books one by one, scouring them for clues to the identity of the mysterious Troupe. Some of them had interesting facts on Mossflower's history and formation, while others had extremely lengthy explanations on past events like the Battle of Kotir. Most of them, however, were just nothing but normal references with little help in solving the identity of the Troupe.

Fleet felt that same warm paw again, this time, holding his left paw firmly. Slightly fazed by the presence, Fleet whipped his head to the left to see who it was. His lower jaw slackened and his fluffy tail went limp. There, clad in shining armor and a shield, with tough features, fiery eyes and a caring smile, stood Martin the Warrior, spirit of Redwall Abbey.

"M-M-art-t-tin," Fleet stammered, almost dropping the book he was currently holding. Never in his life had he expected to see the Abbey's founder face-to-face, especially if he was not… a true blood.

"_Good afternoon to you, young Fleet. Heed mine, and I'll heed yours, for you will journey to find your answer. And without my guidance, you will be lost in the throes of war, where your life intertwines with three and another_," the spiritual warrior whispered, his smile comforting the shivering foxwolf.

Fleet was unable to stir under the Warrior's gaze, which seemed to have glued him to his seat.

"Fleet! Oh, Fleet, why are you on the steps like that? Tumble and fall would be a bad outcome!" the voice of Snow could be heard, shrill with terror. _Terror?_

He turned towards the door, expecting someone to rush by the doorway and see him, but the hurried pawsteps halted just outside of it, nearer to the stairwell. A bit curious to investigate the hubbub, he stood up and put aside the book, ears perked up to hear clearly. He could sense Martin still standing where he was, seemingly looking at him, waiting for him to do something. Fleet turned to look at him, green eyes meeting fierce, brown ones. As he moved a pace towards the door, one question rang in his mind.

"How will I do it?" the words slipped from his mouth effortlessly, puzzling the young foxwolf himself.

The Warriormouse smiled comfortingly, bowing his head slightly as he explained, "_You will see. In your next sleep_."

The young foxwolf was rudely shaken awake by Fortallamus, who hauled him into the air with a joking smile. "I say, chap, y'shouldn't be doin' tha'!"

Fleet's eyes shot open in shock, darting about to get his bearings, wondering why his footpaws didn't feel solid ground. He looked downwards and spotted the lanky hare cheekily smiling, shaking him awake. "C'mon young'un! Sleep's over and lunch's been a-waiting!"

"H-H-Hey! P-Put me down, I'm awake and alive, d'ye hear? Awake and alive!" Fleet retorted. Pummeling the hare none too gently with a paw, the young'un continued his small rant. Unknowingly, his claws became unsheathed and it dealt the hare a painful blow on the forearm.

"OH YEOWCH! Hoot, that was – YAAAAGGGHHH! Ye verminous creature! I'll show ye a Fallowthorn's appreciation to trouble! BARK-A-TOONG! Ouch! Yon cut be hurtin' my pore fur and skin! OOH! Get me bandages, anybeast!" Fortallamus hooted, dropping Fleet down the stairwell _(and I mean __**DROP**__)_ and hopping around, clutching and wringing his arm. "Ah-ha-hooch! I've faced fox, rat, stoat, weasel and wildcat claws, but never a wolf plus a fox! Ah-hooch! Icepacks and bandages, I say, wot wot! It's burnin' fire to my pore fur, wot! Wot's a hare t' do wit' no proper aid, I ask! _Gaaaaarrrrrrhhhhh!_"

While the blurry figure of Mayflower administered to the hyped-up hare, Fleet lay flat on the next set of steps, writhing and groaning in pain after being abruptly dropped and rolled onto the next flight of the hard wooden stairs. "Oh, silly hare! Look what you've done to Fleet!" Brother Nathan's stern voice could be heard over the din Fortallamus was making. "Dear, dear me. Snow, help me prepare a bed up in the Infirmary, will you please? I'll bring him up. Fleet, don't black out just yet, no matter now loud Forty can be!"

Words just became a distant murmur.

_When will things ever work for me? All I want… is to find the Inarians… _

…

Mid-afternoon found Abbot Tronnal parting the door to the Infirmary slowly, his ears twitching with anxiety.

"Brother Nathan, is everything going well?"

The Infirmary was neat and empty, save for the Brother and Snow, who were kept company by two basins of liquid. One had fresh springwater, while the other contained a herbal mixture that gave off a bittersweet scent. Snow was seated in the armchair that she had been in prior to lunch, while Brother Nathan sat dull-faced on the bed that was accommodating the young foxwolf. The mouse looked at him with blank eyes.

"Father, he'll live… Just been knocked silly from his fall," he reported, smiling weakly.

The Abbot folded his paws into his wide habit sleeves, wriggling his nose such that the small glasses perched on his nose shifted as well. The old squirrel peered at Brother Nathan over his glasses, raising his eyebrows questioningly. "Speak everything, Brother. I am well aware you are hiding something," he murmured.

The younger mouse wiped a lone tear with his wide habit sleeve, sniffing inaudibly.

"Oh, I'm worried, Father Abbot! Worried! Sometime after we brought 'im up here, he started murmuring feverishly, unlikely words spurting from him; words that I've never ever expected to hear from him! Oh that silly hare Fortallamus Fallowthorn! He dropped the dear child onto the steps with no heed of the danger Fleet may face!" the Brother wheedled, shaking his head ruefully as he turned towards Fleet's head. The unconscious foxwolf moved his head left and right, uttering inaudible words that even the sharp old squirrel couldn't catch.

Snow twisted the corner of her smock fretfully and glanced at the Abbot. "I heard a bit, Abbot Tronnal. But I can't be sure," she mumbled.

"Little can go a long way, my dear. Please, tell me all you've heard."

…

The door to the Infirmary was closed and the window wide open. The three conscious creatures sat among the armchair and beds that surrounded the Infirmary.

"Well, it first began as a Dibbun's mumbling… similar to when we're having a peaceful dream. Soon after, Fleet spoke in such a… strange accent… He said words like '_three lives and one'_, '_towards the ice', 'vengeance', _and '_old clan_'. It doesn't make any sense at all. What more when he added '_war and murder and the killing of _hundreds'! And what does Fleet know about battle and 'old clan'? Clan of what essence precisely?" Snow turned memory into words as best as she could.

At this point Brother Nathan was brushing his whiskers again, flicking away any drops of water that threatened to roll down his cheeks. "Lives and vengeance, and ice and all the unthinkable things of war and battle! Lord, when have you ever heard the child say such?"

Abbot Tronnal looked up from the parchment he was writing on, eyes curious. "Strange accent, you say? Brother Nathan, please be calm. Though, I'm afraid I have the answer for the war segment. Fleet's father, if any of you remember, is a Warlord. Merciless to woodlanders and slaying to his pleasure; that must have invaded the poor child's dreams."

"But… he doesn't know his father! He doesn't know –" Brother Nathan clapped a paw over Snow's mouth, throwing a desperate glance to her.

"Do not speak his name, not when Fleet still has no clue to his parents' identity other than their species. We will only refer to him as the fox."

Abbot Tronnal silently thanked the mouse's quick nerve in silencing the dormouse before she could utter the fox's name. Turning back to the parchment and scribbling something else onto it, the old squirrel continued, "Is there anything else to be said, Snow?"

The dormouse looked awkward as she tried to speak her answer, but worry and fear seemed to have weighed her down. Whatever she was to speak, she was unwilling to let it be known; she knew it would bring the foxwolf towards a perilous turn sooner or later. Mustering enough courage, she spoke, "Father Abbot, I believe Martin the Warrior is beckoning to Fleet."

…

Outside by the Abbey pond, the otters Jun and Waycrest were spending their time splashing about in the pond, soaking any Dibbun that came within range. Waycrest, the sleeker of the two, dived deep into the pond having sighted his next target; the molebabe Nutmud. Junny took the cue and swam towards the far end of the pond, lounging there as if nothing was suspicious.

"Ahoy there, Nutmud! Pretty afternoon, eh lad?" Jun called out, whiskers dripping with water as she smiled.

"Hurr hurr, marm Junny havin' a gurt toime oot in moi pond! Oi want t' go boatin' soon!" the molebabe replied cheerily, though his dark eyes showed wariness.

Like a torpedo in water, Jun skimmed the water surface, aiming straight for Nutmud. Nutmud squealed with terror, his small blunt claws covering his terrified face. Smirking and passing a quick wink to Waycrest underwater, the female otter stopped right before the edge of the pond, water sloshing lazily around her.

"Hmm… didn't get wet, eh? Oh, g'day to ye Nibble!" Jun waved towards a mousebabe who was stumbling towards Nutmud.

Nutmud was giggling to himself, ashamed of being so frightened. "Burr hurr, Junny troid t' scare oi wit' water! But oi is still droi, am oi roight Nibble?"

A tower of water erupted like a geyser, drenching all those within 5 paces of the Abbey pond. Squeals of dismay and hoots of uproarious laughter followed suit as Dibbuns checked themselves over and the otters laughed 'til their ribs ached. Waycrest was floating on his back, blowing water from his whiskers and gripping his sides.

"Hoho there laddies! Yore gonna be thankin' ol' Waycrest sooner or later! That's the best bath I've giv'n to youngsters since I was a pup meself!" the sleek-furred otter chortled, unable to control the laughter.

…

"Ooh! I say, old lad, steady on will ye – Eek! Hooch!"

"Hold still, Fortallamus! 'N quit hootin' will ye please? Yore gonna wake Fleet upstairs!" Brother Hol chided the hare, yanking harshly on the injured forearm.

Fortallamus bit his lip, before licking it to rescue remnants of the redcurrant pudding he had earlier. After licking his chops clean, the hare glared at the otter with fiery blue eyes. "Phaw! Wake the lil' vermin, eh? The blinkin' half-breed who dared use claw against a good un! Pah!"

"I said, _hold still_!" Brother Hol barked. Tossing a challenging glare, he added, "He's no vermin. You just shocked him to the bone!"

"Lord! Not to be rude, sah, but my days as a Long Patroller has taught me to distinguish the villainous from the goodliness! Top hole, wot!"

Pushing his frustration into the back of his mind, the otter began wrapping a dock leaf around the cut, keeping his eye on the doorway into the dormitory corridor. "Hmph. You're lucky Abbot Tronnal wasn't there t' see what ye did, laddie. He'd be more'n furious t' even hear ye say s'rry!"

With the cut finally mended and bandaged, Brother Hol stole away into the nearby wardrobe to keep his box of herbs and other remedies. Hearing out for any pawsteps, the former Skipper of Otters rummaged through the clothing deposited at the shelving, flinging out any pieces of cloth that obstructed his way. Fortallamus ducked left and right as clothes and other assorted cloth material were being flung in his direction; habits, tattered blankets, hats, handkerchiefs, tunics, jerkins and Dibbun-sized shirts! The hare's footpaws were tangled at one instant and he was assaulted with a barrage of clothes, piling on top of him like a mass of vermin attackers.

"Gah! I say, Brother Hol, sah! Are you trying to suffocate a former Long Patroller, wot!" he gasped, breaking out from the pile.

A flash of blinding light whipped past Fortallamus' face, and he gave a yelp as he covered his eyes with his ears.

Brother Hol chuckled quietly, eyeing the trembling hare as he stroked the steel edge of the mighty weapon in his paws. The magnificent blade was every inch a warrior's; from its keen-edged steel blade to the red pommel stone that decorated a black-banded hilt, with brilliant silver crosstrees. It was a formidable weapon to be wielded by any creature, and its unimaginable balance made it one of the sturdiest ever felt by the bygone water warrior.

"I had the oddest dream, Forty… Martin the Warrior, the Abbey's founder, he told me of a creature who must journey to find an answer and an addition to Sister Lina's library. We can't stoppim; it'll mean great danger for the other Abbey dwellers. Martin said I 'ad t' git his sword from the roof and stow it, 'til the young'un manages to wake up and spiffin' ready for his upcomin' quest. Then… then he brought me to the woods… Said there was someone the chosen one must meet to survive ou's'de o' 'em," the Brother grunted as he inspected the blade for its straightness.

"Bally ho, chap! You took that sword down? Without anybeast knowin' 'bout it?" Fortallamus cried.

Another swing from the blade cautioned the hare from crying out again.

"I heard Snow when I passed the Infirmary. Fortallamus Fallowthorn, the one you call vermin is no vermin in the eyes of Martin. He has been destined to save Redwall, from the day we rescued him from that slayer!"

* * *

Lufius crouched in the back of the cell, bravery lost at the sight of the savage sables clawing at the iron bars to his cell. The mad, red-rimmed eyes could have burned a hole into Lufius' tail, who had covered his head in fear. The sound of crunching rocks told the hare that the guards had gone off.

"Relax, mate. They won't be back 'til evenin' fer supper."

Lufius took a deep breath and sat properly, looking through a rather sizeable hole in the right wall, big enough to fit a head through. As he looked closer, the hare noticed somebeast scrabbling at the wall, scratching at some rocks until they gave way and collapsed to form a bigger hole. A furry, elongated muzzle made its appearance through the hole, tailed by the most fearsome set of pale amber eyes Lufius had ever sighted!

"G'day to ye! I'm a sane wolf, so don't fret!" the curious face whispered.

Lufius immediately took a liking to his prisonmate. "Afternoon to you, sah! I'm Lufius… don't know my last name but y'understand, eh matey?"

The wolf, with blue-black fur that was tinged with white around the eyes, chuckled briefly and drew back to fit a paw through, shaking the hare's paw. "Glad to hear of et. Name's Orthias, son of the Great Silver Guardian, though… wasn't much of a guardian afterwards…" the words faded to small murmurs, sadness filling each word.

Lufius, being the good-hearted hare he was, duck his head 'til he could see the wolf himself.

"Wot happened t' 'im?"

The wolf looked at him, bleary-eyed. "Not gonna talk about it. At least… not now… with those Kig-Yars about..."

* * *

Fleet took in his surroundings, expecting the great Warriormouse to appear by him.

"Martin? Martin, where are you?" the foxwolf called out, his fluffy tail puffed up to twice in its original size. That was rather abnormal to the young Redwaller, who suddenly felt very cold. Looking upwards, he could snow beginning to fall, some landing softly on his nose.

The warm feeling came again, and this time, the Warrior stood facing the Northlands, his sword point into the ground like a pole. Martin smiled at Fleet before nodding towards the North.

"_There you seek, one for your mind,_

_And another to bring, and leave behind._

_Beware the one who seeks his vengeance,_

_And the sky who seeks the right of balance._

_Proceed with caution, my young Redwaller,_

_For the journey ahead requires the heart of a Warrior."_

Everything turned into a frightening red, and the familiar shrieks and wails of pain and terror came back, swelling in Fleet's ears. The young foxwolf backed away, ears pressed flat against his skull, tail between legs, and voice calling out in a piteous whine.

"Hahahahaha!" a shrill cackle made him turn around… and wished he hadn't.

The lone, dark shadow, armed with a menacing curved blade that gleamed with a bloody light, was standing a few steps away from him, grinning with slyly. Its cruel eyes glistened with evil light, boring down on the shivering foxwolf who was rooted to the spot in uttermost horror. Fleet was weaponless! Unarmed! Helpless!

"Stay away!" he wailed, looking hither and thither for any sort of defense.

"The foxwolf," the shadow rumbled, lips splitting into a wider grin. "Siltwing, a coward, living only to find a long-gone clan… Worthless!"

It lunged at once, bringing the sword crashing down upon the terrified Fleet.

* * *

**There you have it! More foreboding. We've moved slightly into the search for the Troupe. Spoilers, we're gonna look for Zini's mom first, since she "knows more about the Troupe". R&R! _Critique _and not _criticism_.**

_**Fleet: I'm not gonna die in my dreams, am I?  
Author: Oh please,where's the joy in that? **_**You _are my main character Fleet!  
Huskfield: Ho,'tis always the young'uns that's gettin' stories,eh?  
Author: Not the time to arg-  
Zilus: Should make a story where evil triumphs hahaharr!  
Huskfield: Fox! Redwaaaaaaaaaall! *chases Zilus around*  
Author: Hrrrrrrhh! *points towards the computer screen* CUT THE CAMERA!_**

**_*blank*_**


	4. Announcement

**Just an announcement. And maybe some insights...?**

_Black screen. Scuffling heard in the background, along with gruff voices and a few growls. A hollow 'thunk' is heard._

Silver: OH MY GOD! Waycrest, you buffoon! That's an expensive item you dropped!

Waycrest: Oops, s'rry mate! Tripped o'er yon rock there. *chuckles*

Silver: This is not a good time for laughing riverdog! Sigh, okay nevermind. We should start recording as soon as I finish this paperwo-Is the red light blinking? Why is the red light blinkin'? WHY IN HELLSTEETH IS IT BLINKING ? Brilly...? Did you press the record button on the way here!

Brilly: Er, er, think I did, think I did! Is it the blinking red light here? *tapping heard and the screen vibrates a little*

Silver: And my laptop visual is blank too. Oh, Waycrest, you just had to drop my camera!

Zilus: *swishing in the background* Karr! Ye blimey spikepig, blaggard streamdog! Ye know nought abou' this!

Fleet: (sarcastically) Like you could operate the camera.

Fortallamus: Jolly well said, young vermin!

_-a loud 'thud' heard, followed by a series of squeals and cries-_

Brother Nathan: Wot did I tell you about calling Fleet a vermin, Fallowthorn?

Fortallamus: YEEK! BARK-A-TOONG! RELEASE ME, SAH, I BEG OF YE!

Silver: WOULD YOU ALL PLEASE JUST SHUSH! How are we gonna do the announcement now if my visual screen is blank? Oh hang on...

-_screen becomes lighted with the removal of something. Silver's eyes are close to the screen, twinkling jokingly-_

Silver: *turns to nearby hedgehog* Hmm, you forgot to take off the lens cap. Seriously, none of you have any idea how to operate a darn camera? *steps away from camera looking left, revealed to be dressed in a black Army General uniform with a blue-black item in paw*

_-surroundings are some grassy hills and a few buildings nearby-_

Zini: Hurr, oi seen no camururr afore.

Mother Niru: *crosses arms* Yes, Silver FoxWolf, if you must know, we live in the older days. To humans, the _medieval_ times or the rural days, if memory serves me right.

Fleet: Uhm... so the camera's rolling... What now? It probably recorded all of the snores on the cart and all that we did.

Silver: =.=' We can edit the video,sheesh. Lemme me handle this...

_-Silver shoos the creatures away and turns to the screen, smiling-_

Silver: Ahem. G'day to you Redwall fans! Or,not so good day if anything bad happened t'day. *pulls collar nervously* I'm Silver FoxWolf, otherwise known as 'Author' in the bold enscripts of my chapters. *adjusts jacket* Er...please ignore my dress code. As you should know - *mutters for a moment* - I'm the **RIGHTFUL author **- *glares at Mitusk and Scartail* - of the Redwall fanfic 'The Inarian Troupe'. Well, considering that it's the holidays for me and a handful of activities have been lined up to fill my schedules to the brim and I have band practices that end at about 6 everyday and my "bosses" don't exactly allow me to use the computer that long-

Zilus: Hey, foxwolf! Quit blabberin' like'n idiot and git writin' agin!

Silver: *yanks Zilus into the screen* (venomously) This ragged lump of fur is Zilus Kig-Yar, the Unseen Slayer and Warlord of the Murderous! Sadly, if he does not WATCH HIS TONGUE, he will be SLAYED. AND. MURDERED. (eerily happily) Contrary to his titles!

Zilus: Ye can't do that!

Mitusk: *walking past the screen, chortling to himself* Hehe, he sure can. He's yon author of wotever this chapter's abou' *tosses a nut into his wide mouth*

Silver: *looking at Zilus with a grin*

Fortallamus: I say, chaps! *bounds into the screen and stops on the right* Are we going to get a move on? We don't have all day to film,wot! And to add on, you're supposed to be brainstorming yore next chapter and get Fleet back to his footpaws and journey for Zini's mother, wot wot!

Silver: *tosses Zilus aside, out of the screen* OK! Announcement one: Updates to 'The Inarian Troupe' will be delayed with each passing week as practices are being intensified and results for class allocations are coming in soon. **So bottom line is that I'll be too penned up with work that Fanfictions will be put to the bottom of my priority list FOR NOW.**

Mother Niru: (off-screen) Nutmud! Poptail! FILTO! GET BACK HERE!

Fortallamus: *crouches down to sprint* Set. EULALIAAAA! *bolts out of the screen* Ha! (from a distance) Lord,hold sti-wait! Not the tai-OOMPF!

Mother Niru: Young rips! Come back!

_-screen shakes and falls sideways,accompanied by laughter. When it stops shaking, Silver and Fleet are seen running towards it. The screen is lifted to its former position before they can reach it-_

Brilly: Dear, dear, dear. Cella'ogs needn't care abou' all this!

Vivian: *pats Brilly on the back* Ah, let me operate this un.

Silver: Gah! Git those two babes t' bed! And that OTTER LAD TO THE POND! NOW!

Filto: *runs past the screen, chased by the badger mother* No! No! Nay! YAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAA~!

Fleet: *watches the two run for a bit* So,Silver? Would y'like to tell the readers how ye came came across t' writin' this fanfic? *winking*

Silver: Ho! *looks at the screen* Well that's a great idea!

Scartail: 'Ang on fer a bit! _- screen turns towards the ferret-_ Ye said this were an announcement,not some storytellin' fer Dibbuns thingamajig! Lookit this blighter, will ye Pikeshot? He's changing his werds ev'ry time!

Pikeshot: *sniggers*

Silver: *raises eyebrows* Deary me. Lufius? (grimly) Please take them for a nice walk to Mr Dark.

_-the ferret and the stoat are dragged away unwillingly-_

Fleet: *takes over* Hello readers! O'er 'ere! -screen goes left to Fleet- Yes,well... As main character of this story, I think it should be my responsibilty to explain what has happened so far.

Zilus: (from afar) Oh what a blaggard ye are! S'Only been tew groggy chap'rs! Wot's more, 'tis an announcement chap'r! Not a explanation yaya yada dada... WHOOPS! _-whirring noise-_

Fleet: *becomes panicked and dives forward, out of screenshot*

_-a cavalry saber lands point-down into the ground right in the centre of the screen-_

_-Fleet's head appears right in front of the screen-_

Fleet: Uhm...Silver?

Silver: (moodily) Wot? I don't feel like giving announcement two.

Fleet: Er... (nervously) What does an iPhone look like?

Silver: Just like a phone, only bigger with no keypads; just a wide touch screen.

Fleet: Yours in particular? *creeps forward to inspect the pierced item*

Silver: (still moodily) White covering with a black wolf pattern on it... (suddenly alert) Why?

_-Fleet holds up something, head facing the northwest direction. Paws are heard thundering forward and Silver comes into the screen on all fours-_

Brilly: I don't want to like anything after this!

Silver: (upmost outrage) ZIIIILUSSSS KIG-YAAAAAAARRRRR! *whips around towards the camera*

_-screen quickly turns towards a small hill,where Zilus is resting on its peak. The fox hears the roar and immediately scrambles to his footpaws,ready to run-_

Silver: Ye slimy two-ton,double-nosed,honey-slipped wetpawed fox! I'll show ye wot happens when ye mess with FoxWolf! *looses several arrows at the fleeing Warlord* Git on yer paws and lemme kick yer tail!

Zilus: *hops twice* YEOWCH! Haver mercy, Author! Ooch! I'll be careful with the props! Yeek! Promise! OW! OWOWOWOW!

Vivian: OH! (gleefully) Arrow-ed in the nose! Serves ee righ' fer lookin' back while bein' chased by a maddened foxwolf! Right. *puts screen back towards Fleet* Wot were you about t' say,matey?

Fleet: (looking half-shocked,half-bemused) Huh-who-what? Oh! Uh...uhm... *waves half-heartedly at the camera* Nevermind. We'll wait for Silver t' come back. Forty,see to the Dibbuns with Mother Niru. Waycrest and Zini, see those plugs and wires? Yeah, pick 'em up and put it in the box.

Zini: (off-screen) Burr hurr, this woire be movin' on ets own!

Waycrest: Movin'? Lad, wires don't mo- HOLY TROUT'S HEAD! 'TIS A BLOOMIN' SNAKE! GERREM!

_-Redwallers and Villains alike run past the screen in either fear or determination of the snake. The camera is knocked down yet again,and the screen is cracked by a footpaw. Footpaws are seen rushing to and fro in a mad scramble for the snake-_

Fleet: HO WAIT WAIT! The camera! Its headin' for the camera...WIRE! Get it away! Get it- No,don't let it bi-

_All voices and noise are cut off. Screen becomes blank._


	5. Chapter 4

**Yes! Chapter 4! Though a normal Redwall tale is at least 30 chapters long xP. Nvm. Ok, we're finally moving on to the journey! After a painstaking meeting! BEGIN!**

**Disclaimer: ... *yawn***

The sun descended and hung low in the sky, slowly disappearing across the vast horizon. Its brilliant light painted the land a wonderful golden hue, dim with the passing of another day. Birds began flying back to their nests to tend to their young, their trilling and chirping becoming nothing but a soft silence. Shadows began lengthening, and creatures settled in their little homes for a rest.

Lilip stretched luxuriously, her jaws wide open in a gigantic yawn. Bringing a paw up to her face, she rubbed her eyes as she sat up, her eyes flopping over like a cloth. One eye was left to survey the cave opening, still blinking away sleepiness.

The sight of the setting sun and the scent of the late afternoon greeted her senses.

"You've awaken. Good, I've found these cherries and some nuts. Not much, but it's better than nothing," Lufius' friend appeared from the back of the cave, bringing over the food that he foraged.

"Hmm," Lilip sniffed, popping a cherry into her mouth and chewing slowly. "They're not bad in the taste, really. Good effort, like my brother would say, Willias."

The shrew gingerly rolled a cherry with a finger, eyes fixed as the morsel rolled towards the cave wall. He was thinking deeply about the friend he left behind; the hare who voted to fend the vermin off to buy some time for him and the younger hare to escape. What had gotten through the hare's mind to make such a decision? Surely it couldn't be the shrew himself; he could've fought those vermin like any other able-bodied creature. It must be the leveret, Lilip. _No, she isn't a leveret anymore… Just look at her!_

Willias gave a quick look towards Lilip with her back against the wall, chewing the nuts daintily. He was right about her age; she was only slightly older than a leveret, but that wouldn't mean she could be excused from the bitter truth of whatever she was to ask. Willias blinked. That had to be why Lufius made his decision. He wanted his only sister to grow and mature, to ensure that no vermin could stop her from living her life to the full!

The sun's brilliant golden rays slowly dimmed, shining straight into the still shrew's eyes. He grunted and rubbed them, reality coming back to him.

"Where's Lufius?" the question struck the shrew like a thunderbolt. He looked at Lilip for a moment before ducking his head, almost unready to answer her.

He swallowed hard. "You'll have to learn for it. No excuses."

* * *

Stonedrop's eyelids had drooped, and he was sleeping almost soundly. The late afternoon heat had cast its sleeping spell on the weary stoat, who had been foraging the camp's vicinity for any scraps of food all day. The battleaxe in his paws acted as a kind of support as he slept standing. Sharktooth appeared out of the thicket that Willias had slept in earlier that day, tucking a rusty dagger into his belt. He growled quietly as he watched his comrade dozing, silently cursing him for leaving the area vulnerable.

"Stonedrop m'lad, quit dozin' and wake up will ye?" the one-eyed stoat barked.

"Huh, 'twasn't you who foraged anyway," Stonedrop hissed, one amber eye slitting open. "I searched, you scoffed! Wot d'ye make o' tha'?"

The stoats fell silent as they heard a noise. Someone was walking carelessly through the thick foliage, shaking the bushes violently and making quite a ruckus. Sharktooth's paw went to his back, where he kept his scimitar and gripped it tightly. Stonedrop tightened his grip at the lower half of his battleaxe, ready to swing out at a moment's notice.

The line of bushes near them shook violently. A scruffy head popped out, its grey-brown fur almost a shadow in the fading light. It was a weasel, with its heavily scarred muzzle and cold, black eyes. The weasel looked about before revealing itself fully to the two stoats, the dull tunic torn from walking in thorns. When it spoke, its voice was heavy and grating, as if it had never cured its sore throat. (A/N: Something like Slagar and Stonefleck's voice combined)

"What have ye t' report?"

Sharktooth let his paw leave the scimitar handle, partly relieved of the weasel's arrival. Stonedrop, however, was still tensed.

"No trouble so far. But mind, 'tis only been half a day. We 'ave t' keep watch 'til sunrise on the morrow," Stonedrop reported, eyeing the weasel. The grip on his battleaxe slackened, sleepiness threatening to pull him back into slumber.

The weasel noticed Stonedrop and smirked. The scar at the side of his mouth fixed his muzzle in a permanent snarl, and whenever he smiled, it would stretch all the way to his eye and give it an eerie appearance. "Tired already, Assassin? Zilus trusted ye to take care of this! Looks like I'll 'ave t' repl-"

"No word to the fox, Vice!" Stonedrop snapped, his axe pressed against the weasel's throat. "You leak a false word, and I'll be sure to have your hide for a cloak!"

Wordlessly the weasel pushed aside the deadly axe, the smirk gone and the mood of joking along with it. Vice beckoned to Sharktooth, who came over and nodded to the two of them.

"Lissen 'ere, stoats. Chief's got another task fer ye. Scout this forest, all the way into the northeast, and scour it for potential slaves and hordebeasts. Kill any who resist. Torture all who dare to run. Play false to those who negotiate fer greatness, because only Zilus Kig-Yar is the greatest! He's even giving ye command to threescore of the horde! Remember this: You are his personal Assassins, the elites of his horde. Nobeasts other than yeselves git trusted with this work. Do his work well, and you'll be rewarded. Got et?"

"Aye, we got it. But watch yerself, weasel. One word to Zilus and this axe buries deep in yer throat!" Stonedrop snarled, hefting the axe once and letting it go slack against his leg.

Vice's dark eyes were straight with no emotion. "Lord Zilus will be waiting fer ye both in the den at day's third hour. Don't be late."

Sharktooth grabbed onto Stonedrop's wielding arm just as the stoat brought it backwards for a swing.

"Give yon axe a rest. It'll be 'andy later," Sharktooth growled, stalking away to the far side of the camp.

Vice gave a nod and turned back to the bushes, his fur matching the shadows, slowly blending in to the coming darkness. The sun continued its descent into the horizon, its last rays of daylight being taken. The weasel's dark eyes glinted once and he grinned, the horrific scar giving it a revolting appearance.

"Soon this place will fall into the claws of the Great!"

With that, the weasel vanished into the shadowed forest, leaving behind two loyal killers.

* * *

The female wolf crouched low, her green eyes narrowed to slits as she watched the weasel go. Her pointed teeth shone as her lips curled back into a snarl. That name she had heard for many long seasons; the name of the merciless slayer she vowed to kill. One thought rang in her mind.

Zilus Kig-Yar was to be slain!

She had heard every word of the vermin, every word that uttered and spoke of the one she vowed to slay. The heartless villain had murdered her mother and terrorized all her friends. She would slay the beast, and avenge her fallen people. Somewhere in the vast forest, she could hear the faint tolling of bells. Whatever it meant, she took it as a sign to begin her revenge. She stalked forward on all fours, the natural instincts of her ancestors lending her the agility and stealth she needed to trail the weasel. Her dark pelt of blue-black and grey aided her in camouflaging in the early evening darkness. The sword reflected the dying light, but she didn't care.

Zilus Kig-Yar was to be slain!

* * *

"SILTWING!"

Brother Nathan rolled off the corner off the bed as Fleet jumped awake, sitting up so suddenly that the poor mouse tumbled backwards onto the floor and into the table with the basin on it. The basin – placed rather close to the edge – tipped over and landed onto the mouse's head.

Fleet rubbed his eyes with both paws, wondering whether he was really out of his dream-turned-nightmare. He stopped doing so only to find a soaked Brother Nathan and a giggling pair of Redwallers. Caught in the unusual merriment, the young foxwolf let his ears flop comically like how hares would do it.

"Wot did I miss?" he chortled.

Taking the cue, Snow joined in the joke. "Oh, not much. Just the untimely bath of the brown mouse there."

"Tut tut, very unruly of you to drench a Brother, Fleet," Abbot Tronnal chided. "Especially when you've been knocked out for almost the entire afternoon!"

"Hmph! Jolly well said, Father Abbot!" Brother Nathan had gotten up from the floor and was dabbing a towel all over him. The once kind face that Fleet had grown to love had vanished, now a mask of grumpiness and miff. Brother Nathan wasn't as cheery as before.

"Wot time is it, may I ask?" Fleet asked, averting the subject.

The old squirrel patted his shoulder gently, a thin smile forming on his withered face. "Sshh… Listen… Hear that? Yes, the Matthias and Methuselah bells have been pealed for the evening. It has long past since your fall, of which we need your words."

Fleet wasn't listening to Abbot Tronnal, however. Instead, he had fixed himself to hearing the tolls of the twin bells in the bell tower, noting every beat that boomed and echoed across the Abbey grounds. Never had he heard such beautiful sounds in all the time he had spent in Redwall Abbey. It would appear strange for other creatures to think that bells were like music, but to Fleet, it was what it is to him… Comfort. The only other soothing sounds he had heard in his younger days were the sounds of… weeping and war… weeping… and… war… tears… clanging metals… the warmth of fur…

Why did it all sound so familiar? And… why did the forests of Mossflower remind him of something he couldn't remember? Worse still, who was the shadowy figure in his dreams?

_Master Fleet! Stay on the path, Warrior! Your journey must be solved!_

"…Fleet!"

The foxwolf snapped back to attention, shaking his head vigorously. He stared out the window of the Infirmary, watching the undisturbed gloom. Sensing something else, he turned back to the perplexed faces of his friends. Each held a face of concern and puzzlement. He knew what they wanted.

"Father Abbot, I have words to be said and solved, and I alone cannot do it. I will need the help of a few others than you," he affirmed.

The Abbot folded his paws back into his wide habit sleeves, bowing his head a fraction as he mused over the foxwolf's words. "Very well, young Fleet. We will ponder this in Cavern Hole, right now, if you don't mind."

"I mind!" Fleet interrupted, holding out a paw. "But I would require some vittles, otherwise I won't speak."

_Thwack!_

"YEOW!"

Brother Nathan waved the broom stick in a menacing behaviour. "At the very least just say you're hungry, not structure it such that you require a ransom!"

* * *

Friar Coylan had been kind to whip out a few after-tea snacks for the riddling group. He ambled down the stairs into Cavern Hole, laden with plates of blueberry muffins, cheese 'n' onion lattice and the odd hotroot scones, together with elderberry wine and strawberry cordial.

Abbot Tronnal sat at the head of the table, accompanied by Gatekeeper Amrun and Old Quill Brownbush the squirrel. Fleet sat between Vivian and Foremole, whilst beside them was Huskfield, Mayflower, Fortallamus, Sister Pruneleaf, Brother Hol, Brother Nathan, Zini and a few other moles and Mother Niru. They helped themselves to a portion of delicacies laid out.

Abbot Tronnal began the meeting, ringing a small bell which had passed down from generations of Abbots.

"Merry evening to all of you, my peaceful Redwallers. We are here this evening to hear the words of young Fleet, and to help him decode whatever hidden message it conceives," the Abbot began, nodding towards Amrun who in turn prepared a quill and parchment.

Fleet swallowed hard for a moment, hesitant on even speaking. He didn't really want most of the Abbey inhabitants to know of his odd dreams; they'd probably start making up false tales of him becoming a liar or worse, trying to leave the walls of Redwall to lead the vermin life. NO!

"I say, chap, get a move on, wot!" Fortallamus' voice rang clear in Fleet's ear.

Glaring at the hare, Fleet cleared his throat and began his long tale.

"I'm not entirely sure, but the door to the library was not locked as proposed by others. I came about this book – though not sure the of title – and my fingers seemed to have moved on its own, for it had flipped to a page containing the extract of an unknown source, said to be found at a hut east of St Ninian's. I read it from top to bottom, but it told me nothing else save for a problem – an argument maybe – that separated a group of creatures, more specifically a whole village and its newcomers the troupe, into two groups. One was dubbed as the 'favoured' side. I've had no idea what could have caused such a separation to a Troupe that seemed to have been together for forlorn seasons. The side that had not been favoured was forced to leave the dreadful village, unable to bear the painful truth of dejection. This group that had been split into two… was The Inarian Troupe."

Murmurs had rippled through the seated Abbeybeasts by then, some wondering the tale from the book. Old Quill stood up and rapped the table with a paw. "Silence, please!"

Brother Hol raised a paw. "Strike me rudder, all you good creatures! It's been ages since I've last heard that sea-sunk name!"

"You've heard of the Inarian Troupe, sir?" Vivian questioned the otter.

"Ho, me laddie buck. Many seasons ago, when I was still a free-faring water warrior, I happened to travel north, beyond the outskirts of Mossflower. And this curious water vole came charging at me, saying gibberish like '_Blow off, ye traitors t' the Troupe! Git back to yon life in tha' shriveling village!"_ Of course, I couldn't make any sense of that bloomin' vole. Sent him off to his rockers, I did!" the otter explained, waving his flagon about as he did so.

Old Quill was becoming impatient. "Don't speak, unless you have information to help our young one! Please resume your story, Fleet."

Fleet thanked the old squirrel before turning to the Redwallers again.

"Anybeast that asked me about my deed had been shunned or terrified by me; something I regret to remember… And because of that, I chose to miss out on Redwall's magnificent lunch. Though, this is what started all my turnovers. As I sat on the stairwell to Great Hall, I fell asleep and these ruthless images of terror and war and bloodshed came flashing before my eyes, and I became even more horrified by a lone figure that held aloft a curved blade, cackling as the battle before turned to his favour! And then… this strange warmth enveloped me, rocking me to sleep, repelling those horrid visions. It told me that I must never-"

"Be afraid of decisions… And never let its troubles overwhelm you," Abbot Tronnal finished the foxwolf's sentence. He was staring wide-eyed at Fleet, untold wonderment flaring in the gentle brown eyes.

Feeling awkward, Fleet continued, "Er, yes. I was unsure of who it was. Afterwards, I found myself in front of the library yet again. And blow my whiskers, Martin the Warrior was there and speaking t' me! That was the first time he ever spoke to me personally. He said, '_Heed mine, and I'll heed yours, for you will journey to find your answer. Without my guidance, you will be lost in the throes of war, when your life intertwines with another_'. He told me to wait for my next sleep for another clue he was to give. It was then did my fall occur! Having been lifted high into the air and dropped abruptly to the floor!"

(A/N: For some strange reason that I myself don't know, Fleet the foxwolf has whiskers, whereas both wolf and fox don't have whiskers at all! I think I like it that way lol!)

The severe glare from the fiery green eyes sent Fortallamus charging into the hotroot scones which he mistaken for blueberry muffins. The hare immediately leapt high into the air, howling and whooping around.

"EEEEYAAAAAHHH! HOTROOT! WOOOH! PHAW, BALLY SCONES TASTE OF HOTROOT! FOOOO!" he wailed.

Ignoring the howling hare, Amrun stopped scribbling on the parchment and turned to the Abbot. "So 'tis true, what Snow had said. Martin the Warrior is beckoning to our young foxwolf."

Vivian overheard the Gatekeeper. "Here, what journey does our Great Abbey Spirit want Fleet to go through?"

Zini waved a blunt digging claw. "Hurr, bet young maister Fleety be wantin' t' go see moi momma! He asked oi aboot et himself!"

"Burr hurr, you'm be a villyun, Zini! Nought tellin' us'n's aboot maister Fleety goin' t' see Missuz Tenorsoil!" Foremole chided the younger mole.

"Of course! _You will journey to find your answer_! Fleet must leave Redwall Abbey and find the old molewife Mrs. Tenorsoil! She knows a lot more about the Inarian Troupe than any creature in Redwall!" Amrun exclaimed, writing the findings down fast.

Sister Pruneleaf was working up her well-known temper. Bolting up to a standing position, she banged her favourite ladle on the tabletop, small eyes fiery with rage.

"Everybeast kindly be seated and let Fleet finish his story! _Then_ will you be allowed to interrupt further!"

Bowing in appreciation to the mouse-lady, Fleet decided to hurry and end his tale.

"Uh, well, err… While unconscious, I was in Mossflower, facing North, with Martin the Warrior revealing the start of my supposed journey. Here, I still remember his words:

_There you seek, one for your mind,_  
_And another to bring, and leave behind._  
_Beware the one who seeks his vengeance,_  
_And the sky who seeks the right of balance.  
The kin of a warrior awaits your arrival,  
Only with this one,will you ensure survival.  
Cross three peaks to the land of the protectors,  
Prepare thyself for the serpent specters.  
Next is the land of great destruction,  
All the deeds of nothing but corruption.  
Watch the sun for the shadow of Urchin,  
And walk to its tip,where there is no resurrection.  
Search for the one who sits alone,  
Whose unsual sight reveal the unknown  
There past Boar,will you find your answer,  
Between my trees that was left for later._  
_Proceed with caution, my young Redwaller,_  
_For the journey ahead requires the heart of a Warrior._

I understand the last two lines. The rest, I am helpless to answer. And after that… that strange shadow came again! It seems to know me! Why else would he say '_**the **__foxwolf_', and '_living only to find a forgotten clan_'? How would he know if I even existed whereupon I've no clue to his identity? And… And… he called a name I've never heard of, but it seemed so familiar: Siltwing! Siltwing, I've never heard such a name, yet it seems like I know it but I don't! I don't know what this entire thing means! Everything is suddenly feeling familiar, as if I've known it my entire life, but I hold memory of none! Why, Father Abbot? What's all this nightmares and memories suppose to mean? Why am I born to a murderer?..."

The foxwolf slumped into his seat, covering his tear-sodden face with both paws, fear and hopelessness overwhelming his body. He never wanted such a troubled life, nor did he want to trouble others! Why did he have to be the one causing all this misfortune to all the good creatures? They may have lead better lives if he had been left in that harsh winter…

Vivian vacated his seat as Mayflower came to Fleet's side, putting her arms about his shoulders as she tried to sooth the crying youngster. Mother Niru ambled over to the Abbot and muttered something in his ear. Abbot Tronnal nodded understandingly and turned to the seated assembly, his voice having a hint of sadness as he spoke.

"Any creature who thinks they have nothing else to contribute, please… Hurry back to Great Hall and prepare for dinner, and speak no word of this to anyone."

Every creature in Cavern Hole left, save for Abbot Tronnal, Amrun, Old Quill, Huskfield, Zini, Fortallamus, Brother Nathan, Brother Hol, Mayflower and Mother Niru.

Brother Nathan approached the one he had been tasked to raise since the cold winter night seasons ago. The memory still hung in the mouse's mind, and he allowed a tear to run freely as he stopped where he was.

"Fleet," Old Quill had risen from his chair, "I know I've had my doubts, but for this, along with Martin's presence, I say that you _will_ go after this Clan that has long been forgotten."

"Aye, lad. And I still remember that vole's whereabouts, though you'll 'ave t' find 'im yerself," Brother Hol continued.

Huskfield laughed. "Hoho! I'll be a-doin' tha' fer ye, me ole messmate!"

"Hurr, oi'll foller and goide ye t' moi momma's 'ome. Oi be promisin', burr aye!" Zini chimed in, wrinkling his nose as he smiled.

Other reassurance and promises were made around the table. Abbot Tronnal remained silent, his bushy tail resting gently on Amrun's shoulder. He watched as Fleet pushed away the otterlady's arms from him and standing upright. Brushing his whiskers, the foxwolf looked at his companions with red-streaked eyes, an unknown emotion welling in his heart.

"Friends… I appreciate how you are willing to help me, and give me the liberty of going on this journey without me prompting… but this journey, this quest that Martin has bestowed to me, to help me find my answer… No matter what dangers await me, to rob, torture, kill… No matter how far and out of range it may be… I must go alone," he finished with his head bowed regretfully.

Fortallamus was the first to react. "Wot! Leavin' on yer own, eh chap? Not in my book of the Long Patrol hahaha! Ye'll need mates with ye on this journey, ye can be sure o' tha'!"

Fleet shook his head ruefully. He appeared ready to shed tears again. "No, Forty… This journey is mine and mine alone. Having you or others with me… I may get them into hurt… Look, before you continue, listen to what Martin the Warrior had t' say. I needed to undergo my quest by my own wits, and never allow myself to lull others… Let me off alone, please."

The old squirrel stood up, wagging a finger reprovingly at the young foxwolf.

"No, my son. Even Martin would understand that such a perilous journey cannot be done by one's self. He needs the support of others to aid him when in need, and vice-versa. You, my dear Fleet, have a great destiny to be accomplished; a destiny that has been laid since that wintery night outside the gates. Here now, you will go with a few others. Huskfield, Zini and Vivian shall accompany you to Mrs. Tenorsoil's home and beyond. Don't argue my boy. And maybe somebody else from our Order, though he seldom stays in Redwall Abbey. Right then, provisions will be specially packed by Friar Coylan, one for each of you and two for Huskfield in case all runs out and there are some wild fruits there to be picked. Be careful though on what you pick. As for departure, you will leave the Abbey grounds only at the crack of dawn, no earlier than that. I shall station some otters on the walls to ensure nobody leaves before dawn. As for directions, I'll decode Martin's message with Amrun and Old Quill Brownbush. We will give it to you when it's breakfast. Is that understood?"

Fleet's eyes turned downward, and his ears drooped sadly. He didn't want to endanger the lives of his fellow Redwallers, nor did he wish to go on this journey. He was afraid that he was walking into the trap of a vermin, perhaps the one he had seen in his dreams!

Brother Hol walked forward and knelt down 'til his eyes were level with Fleet's. From underneath his habit, the former Skipper of Otters drew the great sword of Martin. Holding out the blade in both paws, the otter spoke in a tone that most warriors used when passing down a title to others.

"Fleet, this here is the sword of Martin. Martin himself requested me to bring down the sword from the roof, and hand it over to the one who shall journey to his answer. As it appears, you are the one he has chosen, to protect the Abbey and search for what troubles your mind. Do not deny the sword, Fleet. It has chosen you for this quest, and you must wield it for the good of your fellow Redwallers. You may have no skill, but I'm sure you'll find a way to put it to use, matey. Fleet, look at me now!" the otter's voice became hard and fierce.

Fleet forced himself to gaze into the fierce blue eyes of Verholliun Riverbow, one of the most skilled otters ever seen by the inhabitants of Redwall. Reluctantly, he held out his paws, awaiting the feel of cold metal onhis bare paws.

"You will take this blade with you, and use it to defend yore mates and the creatures that are in need of help. By Martin's spirit, I entrust this blade to you," Brother Hol said solemnly, pressing the flat of the blade in Fleet's right paw and the black-banded hilt in the left.

"Thank you, Brother Hol… Though…"

Mother Niru interjected. "No ,young Fleet. No more complaints. I can imagine Friar Coylan rampaging in his kitchens if we don't hurry up this instant!"

Fortallamus and Huskfield darted up the stairs, shouting at the top of their lungs.

"Top hole, wot! Leavin' morsels about like tha' in the night!"

"Fallowthorn, get yore tail back here and clean the mess you bowled over!"

Mayflower shook her head slowly, a brief chuckle escaping her throat. "Those two... I've never known a day they're full!"

* * *

(A/N: Sorry that I skipped the dinner scene. I didn't want to talk about food and all the gossip and yada yada yada…)

The bells tolled. An hour to midnight, and every Redwaller was asleep. Dibbuns were tightly snuggled in their beds, while other creatures gently snored and tossed about in their peaceable sleep.

Abbot Tronnal appeared out of the gatehouse, along with Old Quill who held three rolled parchments in his paw. Gatekeeper Amrun slept soundly in his favourite armchair in the gatehouse. Old Quill patted the rolled parchments, happiness lighting up his withered face.

"Oh, Father Abbot, we certainly managed to solve that un! I'm sure they'll have not much trouble now that the directions are clear," the old Recorder chuckled.

"Ah, yes, yes, Quill Brownbush. I'm surprised you're doing this for the one you doubted many years back. Never mind that. Come now, it's an hour to midnight. It's time we let our old eyes rest. Good night, Quill," the Abbot mumbled as he walked towards the Abbey building.

Old Quill waved goodbye and retreated into the gatehouse, ready for a well-earned rest.

Soon it was a quarter to midnight, and only the otters that were assigned to the walls were awake. They paced the ramparts restlessly, unable to sit in one spot as the night wore on.

"Ho, me lad. Not much t' do but sit 'n' wait for someone to escape," the voice of an aged otter called out to the other one.

"Hmm mm, sure so, laddie. But y'know Father H'Abbot, we can't deny him."

They totally overlooked a shadow that sprinted across the orchard and over the east well, slinking away into the dark woods.

* * *

Fleet crouched poised on the east wall ramparts, ready to spring down into the line of bushes below. He stalled for a moment, thoughts of Redwall and its inhabitants flooding his mind yet again. He looked back to the main building, haversack of provisions slung over a shoulder, a rolled parchment gripped tightly in his left paw and the sword of Martin in its scabbard and attached to its belt, of which Fleet had worn around his waist. It clinked softly against the stone wall as he turned. A sense of remorse fell over him as he lurched forward to leap. This was what he wanted.. To journey alone…

"Forgive me, Father Abbot… Brother Nathan… But I alone must face the perils…"

Leaping off the ramparts and landing safely in the bushes, the young Redwaller disappeared into the dark woods… Alone…

* * *

**Ok,not too bad I s'pose. Oh and yes, I've lengthened that prose a bit more, so it's slightly more different than the one in the earlier chapter. Well, at least it sounds more like the mysterious directions given by Redwallers, eh? Btw,I'm fully aware that the prose is supposed to be in the centre, but somehow it keeps aligning to the left everytime I save it. Hmph,heck care! R&R please!**


	6. Chapter 5

**The scenes here are occurring at the same time as the previous chapter. But this chapter ends 2-3 hours before Fleet runs away from Redwall. Hail a new character which is an important one in this story! Ok,my story is jumpy and this chapter is short? Anyhoo,some chapters in Brian Jacques' stories are short if you recall,so yeah. Proceed!**

**Disclaimer: (MOVE ON!)**

* * *

Dirtchime the weasel and Sinkgutt the stoat entered the Warlord's throne room, hiding the any possible signs of reluctance and apprehension. They were the captains of Zilus' ground scouts, tasked earlier that day to search for four of the fox's elite soldiers: Nipseal, Redfur, Gorsefoot and Ripfang. They returned with the most horrid news.

"M'Lord…" Dirtchime inched closer to the fox, remembering to bow first.

Zilus eyed the weasel with his cruel, dark eyes. Claws clicking noisily against the arm of his eerie throne and tail twitching every few seconds; Zilus was impatient.

Gulping, Dirtchime faced the Warlord. "I did as you said; took a score of the scouts and searched west and yonder. 'Twas nothin' t' be seen, sire, nothin'! 'Dirtchime', I says to meself, 'Git yore eyes open an' find those four 'ard'eads!' I searched for 'em, Chief! I really did, wit' Sinkgutt too t' see the horror!"

Zilus leaned forward, his teeth bared as he hissed, "Horror? What horror?"

It was Sinkgutt's turn to shake. "'Orrible, Chief! Slain, alla 'em slain! Shipmates Nipseal and Ripfang… looked like pincushions! Arrers all o'er 'em, each 'ad one straight inna throat! A-A-And Gorsefoot 'n' Redfur… s'ord through 'em! Through their middles! 'Orrible thing t' see, Chief!"

The Warlord remained silent, anticipating their next sentence. Ears erect, he growled savagely.

"And y'were ambushed?"

The scout Captains looked at each other before nodding vigorously. Dirtchime raised a claw shakily. "Aye, Chief. Some warrior wit' a strange s'ord, whirled 'r'nd and slew almost alla us! Tried 'ard t' fight 'em, Chief, on me oath we did! But yon warrior 'twere too strong fer us t' handle! We took off fast'n quick wit' wot 'ave we left o' the scouts!"

"Even yer mate Hitchfur got slain!" Sinkgutt blurted. Dirtchime nudged him sharply, but was too late.

The room's normally still atmosphere was broken. Sinkgutt's piercing shriek rented the air as the stoat fell forwards, clutching a rusty dagger that had grown from his middle. Dirtchime stared transfixed by the murder that took place before him, his bottom lip trembling with fear for the worst.

The fox casually got off his throne, pacing slowly towards the quivering weasel. His face was a mask of sadness. "Hitchfur… me ole mate… **slain!** And why?..."

"Er, er, he was cornered, sir, cornered when we ordered a retreat!" Dirtchime attempted to explain.

Zilus whipped out his saber instantly, positioning its tip at the weasel's throat. "Y'cowards! Runnin' off and losin' yer scouts! Ye low-thinking gagheads lost me best scout, tracker, spy… **Everything**! Lissen 'ere weasel! Those who fail Zilus Kig-Yar pay their failures wit' their lives! And y'say Gorsefoot and Redfur are dead? Look again!"

Slowly moving his head away from the deadly blade, Dirtchime sat up and turned about. His jaw slackened and his fur bristled with disbelief and shock. Standing in the doorway to the throne room were Gorsefoot and Redfur, their fur matted with mud and blood, horde tunics torn, limbs scarred and eyes narrowed with agony. The areas where they had been run through with a sword was soaked in the crimson liquid. The two bloody ferrets hobbled towards them and collapsed a tails-length away, sides heaving for breath.

"Scartail found 'em south of the other two carcasses, after you fled! Ye should've bothered t' check them o'er first, you blitherin' roach!" Zilus thundered, kicking the remaining scout leader savagely in the side.

"Mercy, M'Lord! I beg ye!" Dirtchime wailed, shielding his sides.

The cruel fox spat at him. "Mercy? Ye 'ad Hitchfur killed! Ye 'ad the horde's best officer slain in an outnumbered battle; a battle y'could 'ave won!"

The heartless beatings continued within the concealment of the throne room, while the other hordebeasts knew better than to approach and eavesdrop on the Lord.

* * *

Jagclaw sat on the huge gnarled root of the willow tree, eyes focused on the slaves' work on the other side of the stone wall. He watched as an array of slave drivers cracked whips and swung hard willow and ash canes at the backs of the hapless woodlanders, who were chained in a line. The rough voices of the vermin were filled with glee and malice as the slaves did their work painfully, unable to go against the will of their commanding Warlord.

A watervole tripped over her loose chains, dropping her load of sand and stones onto the ground. The nearest fox came running, cracking his whip relentlessly in the ear of the vole.

"C'mon, ye liddle wretch, move! Git on yer paws and clear the mess! MOVE!" the fox punctuated each word with a crack of the whip.

But the watervole didn't move. The fox stamped his footpaw, snarling with distaste. Another slave had been lost to exhaustion.

Jagclaw sighed heavily. If only the slaves were under _his _command… It would do the ferret much joy to see so many slaves working to dig further into the ground and expand the huge den which was soon to be a kingdom. Unfortunately for him, all command of the slaves went to the great Zilus Kig-Yar.

A shrill shriek of agony snapped him back to attention.

"Huh, came from the throne room," he muttered, looking upwards to the high ceiling. The stronghold was just a great big cave-like den, with the willow's thick roots hanging here and there – perfect for a supervising post. The big den was divided into several floors, with the slaves right at the bottom to dig further into the ground, separated from the main threshold by a huge stone wall. Right now, the place was as deep as the forgotten kingdom of Malkariss, maybe even deeper. Jagclaw was on the sixth floor, where hordebeasts were normally posted to watch over the digging works.

"Why so disappointed, Jagclaw Greugar?"

Jagclaw gritted his teeth and screwed his eyes shut, hoping he was just hearing things from his lack of sleep, but his heart knew that his attempts to drown out unpleasant things were futile. Grunting pointedly, he turned his head around to the open doorway.

Smartly clad in a dark-blue tunic with golden trims and hemming, decorated with a bright red belt of which a cutlass was tucked, a fox with a striking resemblance to the Warlord, albeit younger, stood grinning wolfishly at Jagclaw, dark eyes reflecting the faded light.

"Ringblade," Jagclaw hissed.

The said fox swaggered in, twirling a strange object in his fingers. "Temper, temper, me ole mate –"

"I am not yore mate!" Jagclaw growled. "And I don't deal with brats, so sod off!"

Ringblade remained composed, dark eyes emotionless but muzzle split in a grin. He slipped the object into his tunic and prepared himself. Taking a leap, he stretched his arms forward and gripped the overhanging root high above Jagclaw's head with his claws, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. Gaining enough momentum, he shot upwards in a somersault and landed heavily next to the ferret. Jagclaw jumped as the root he sat on quaked, bobbing in random directions precariously.

"Show-off, that's wot ye are. Ye could've 'ave done that'n battle, not in yon den fer show!" he sneered.

"Ho no, no, my dear friend, ye 'ave et all wrong. Y'see I'm just trainin' because tha' is wot Lord Zilus wants me t' do as his second-in-command –"

Jagclaw was immediately on his feet, his scimitar aimed at the young fox's throat. "Yew liddle wretch! I'm Zilus' second-in-command, not yew! Who said tha' 'nyways?"

Ringblade shoved the ferret away from him as he padded towards him, aiming for the thicker section of the root. The young fox's patience was wearing thin, and deep inside, the immense feeling of joyfulness was waiting to erupt and burst out freely. He gave a silent chuckle and turned back to the older ferret, eyes straight with plain mockery.

"Well, I find ye incompetent t' be Zilus' second-in-command! I mean, how could someone who leads such a strong horde… _lose _to someone he was trying to_ kill_?" Ringblade's voice was sharp as he looked at Jagclaw gleefully.

Jagclaw's eyes flicked towards the slaves over the wall before he locked them with Ringblade's. "Sharrup! He cheated y'see! He faked fallin' s'that he c'n yank and pin me!"

"WRONG!" Ringblade snapped, placing one footpaw forward and whipping his cutlass out in one fluid motion, eyes narrowed to thin pale-amber slits. "Yore lying, and y'know it! Tell me the truth y'slimy, bottle-nosed termite!"

The young fox's voice echoed eerily around the hollow den. The slaves and slave drivers knew they shouldn't look up lest the higher ranking officers came down to punish them.

Jagclaw's eyes were ablaze with fury as he paced forward menacingly, the fur on his neck bristling with rage. "I'll tell ye wot 'appened then! He was a weakling! Wit' no skills, no experience… nought! And wot did I do? I clocked 'im straight 'twixt the ears, 'ard wit' a hornbeam limb! And he just goes hubleagooloblah and pins me down, lookin' ready to tear me flesh! Tha' 'nough fer ye, brat?"

(A/N: That weird word is just gibberish, because Jagclaw wants to show how reckless and berserk his opponent was after hitting him in the head.)

Ringblade made as if to stab with his blade, but he only glared. Thrusting the weapon back into his sash, he turned away and headed for the root connecting the different floors. Once he reached the gnarled root, he climbed upwards, digging his claws deep to establish a firm hold on the hard bark before proceeding to his next step.

The ferret stared speechlessly at the fox's reaction, wondering (with cold fury) what was in Ringblade's young and cunning mind.

"I'm as you are, Greugar; speechless. But, knowing you, I won't get any more out of your foul mouth. So 'ere: I'll search for the answers meself. And when I find the truth and discover your lies…" Ringblade paused in his climb to look down at the stunned figure of Jagclaw, "You will find yerself at the wrong end of a blade…"

"Aye, and when ye find yer wrong, I'll tell yer father how _honourable_ ye were, Kig-Yar!" Jagclaw muttered bitterly.

But Ringblade the young fox was gone.

* * *

Jagclaw started when a rusty voice sounded from the shadows. He sighed in relief when he saw it was only Vice.

"Well… Chief expected ye t' be back earlier. Wot took ye so long?" he asked without looking.

The rough-looking weasel emerged from behind the climbing root and sat next to Jagclaw, nodding in the direction of the doorway that Ringblade had came from earlier. "Interesting scene while I was gone?"

The ferret huffed, watching over the stone wall as the slaves were herded into their cells for the evening. That meant he was to report to Zilus' side soon and hear of his latest conquest ideas. Vice took the sign.

"Got the message t' the Assassins. 'Ad to go westwards after tha' t' find Redfur 'n' his cronies; needed to remind 'em 'bout Zilus' order t' go south and find more hordebeasts, but saw tha' those ground scouts were there already," he explained, flicking loose pebbles into the dark abyss.

Jagclaw caught a whiff of Vice's pelt and grimaced with disgust. "Ugh, ye stink o' blood and… and… wolf!"

Vice's black eyes glinted with anger. "Grr… 'Twas tha' wolf, followin' me since I left Stonedrop and Sharktooth! I couldn't go straight back t' the den; so I went for Redfur and 'id meself in yon bushes. Hmph, wolf thought I 'ad lead 'im into a trap and sprang righ' in, killing almost alla 'em, skewering Redfur and Gorsefoot with a strange s'ord! The scout Cap'ns managed t' flee with whoever were left, didn't see Redfur 'n' Gorsefoot still breathing."

Jagclaw wrinkled his nose, imagining the carnage that took place before the weasel's eyes. "Hmm… s'pose ye was lucky t' 'scape, eh?"

The gray-brown weasel remained silent, sitting motionless 'til his fur almost matched the surrounding gloom. Jagclaw had to strain his eyes to make sure Vice was still there.

"The stoats'll be back later. Told 'em clearly," Vice replied, averting the subject.

"Hmph, better go now, or his Lordship would flay me…" Jagclaw snorted as he stood up. Walking along the gnarled root, he took a last look at the strange weasel – Vice sat there, staring into the dark depths of the slaves' work, eyes unblinking. Walking through the doorway, many thoughts invaded his mind… mainly the thought of Zilus Kig-Yar's next move.

* * *

"Father, I'll be away for some time. I'll come straight back if anything of interest comes into my sight," Ringblade declared as he slung a pouch across one shoulder.

Zilus Kig-Yar looked at his son absentmindedly, not realizing the young fox was waiting for an answer to set off. "As you please… Leave me now; I've other matters to attend to."

Bowing low, Ringblade scurried out of the throne room as quickly as he could. He found it strange that his father had let him off so easily, with no further questioning or hold-backs. He turned to see Dirtchime nursing a bruise on his jaw line, wincing as he applied another patch of moss to it. The weasel Captain saw the young fox staring at him and spat.

"Who're ye lookin' at, spawn of the ruthless?"

Pikeshot appeared out of nowhere, dealing the weasel a hard punch in the ribs. "No disrespect to Lord Zilus' kin, slobberchops! I'll give yer an 'arder one if ye ever insult 'im again, scumbag!"

Dirtchime whimpered as he rubbed the area Pikeshot had hit him, wishing he would just be left alone.

Ringblade couldn't help but grimace as the weasel continued rubbing his new injury, whimpering almost piteously.

The weasel Captain saw that Ringblade was still there. "Wotcha still standing there fer?" he mumbled, making sure his voice was less threatening in case Pikeshot was still around. He was stunned when Ringblade crouched to give him a satchel of sorts.

"Use this on tha' bruise and whatever other hurts yore 'avin'," he whispered before hurrying off.

Dirtchime cocked his head to one side, shrugged and proceeded to utilize whatever was in the satchel.

* * *

Zilus was alone in his throne room, thinking about so many things as he lay down on the throne; head on one armrest and legs hanging over the other armrest. It appeared like he was going through therapy, but it was plainly an undignified method of sitting for an all-powerful Warlord. He was just pondering a lot, pushing away thoughts of war, bloodshed and conquest. Something had been itching in his mind, but never had he managed to figure out what it was.

Zilus jerked his head up and turned it sideways as Jagclaw entered. The ferret stooped low before approaching the fox.

"Ah, Jagclaw… Pains me t' know when I don't 'ave a plan," Zilus began, head in paw.

"No plan, M'Lord? Why so?" Jagclaw answered instinctively; it was a sort of ritual to answer as such whenever the fox Warlord arranged his words like that.

"Oh, 'tis simple, really," the fox Warlord replied. "We haven't a clue what lays to the north, all the way to the southeast. None of my hordebeasts 'ave scouted the area and reported t' me yet, which is quite disappointing. Furthermore, Redfur and Gorsefoot are on the eighth floor – two below the watch post and three below this floor – being nursed for sword injuries. It'll be some time afore they can report t' me, so I've no idea how the horde is going to attack and enslave without an ounce of direction. Pity!"

Jagclaw swallowed hard, the fur on his shoulders beginning to rise with apprehension.

Zilus ran his tongue across his lips before raising an eyebrow at the tensed ferret. "Why are ye tensed up like tha'? I won't be killing anymore for the rest of the night."

"Th-That's the thing, Sir… Ye 'aven't 'eard from Stonedrop and Sharktooth yet!"

As if a thorn had been jabbed into him, Zilus was swiftly on his feet, prowling towards Jagclaw with a knife in paw. The Warlord's eyes were intense with rage, boring deep into the ferret's own frightened eyes. The fox's savage, yellowed teeth were beginning to show as he came closer and closer to Jagclaw, menacing the knife at his side.

"That's the point, addle-brain! So far, I've received no word of this territory; none at all t' aid me! I don't care if we've been here fer seasons! Mossflower country is big, and I want t' know every **inch** of the territory, every blade of grass, every petal of flower, and every tiny ant that crawls in 'n' ou' o' yer food!" he growled.

"B-B-But Chief, yer Assassins'll be back at the third hour; 'twon't take long!"

"Imbecile! Imbecile!" Zilus seethed, his eyes taut with undue anger. "I can't bear t' sit 'ere dawdling time away like yew ingrates! I want this kingdom t' be big and treasure-filled, and stretch throughout this land!"

Jagclaw gulped as he took a step back, of which he quickly drew back his step as he realized the vicious fox had noticed his intentions. "M'Lord, ye 'ave t' be patient…"

That did it. The Warlord was streaking forward, swinging his saber sideways as he lunged at the trembling ferret. Jagclaw swiftly sidestepped, missing his Lord's strike by a hairsbreadth. Anticipating a counter-strike, he rolled to the fox's back, out of range and scampered to the side of the room, scratching the walls for anything he could use for defense. Zilus' face was a mask of bloodthirsty insanity; eyes narrowed to slits, fur bristling 'til he appeared twice his original size, tail lashing, lips curled back and saliva dripping out of his gaping mouth. It was a nightmare!

"You…! You…! You… **insolent fool**!" Zilus shrieked, glaring intensely at the shivering ferret. "Gerrout o' my sight! Gerrout! **GERROUT!**"

Jagclaw stumbled paws over tail our of the throne room, avoiding a hail of heavy ornaments being flung at him by the savage fox Warlord. The moment the sound of the hordebeasts' gruff voices swelled in his ears, Jagclaw flung himself on the ground, happy to be away from the currently mad fox.

"Haharr, wot's 'appened in there, mate?" a weasel named Pijyer taunted.

Jagclaw flinched as a dull thud came above his head. His eyes rolled skyward as he made out the quivering shape of a throwing knife.

"Does tha' answer yer question, stickbutt?" Jagclaw replied scornfully.

* * *

Ringblade crawled out of the secret opening, being careful not to even wince as the pain of the hedgehog spikes intensified. Concealing himself in a space among a clump of shrubs, he began to pull out the spikes from his footpaws, grunting as quietly as possible with the effort of dislodging them.

"Hmph, smart un Zilus is! Anybeast would rather face his wrath than step on these spikes – OW!" he yelped as the last one was pulled out. Looking around to ensure that nobody had heard him, he got to his feet and hurried forward, anxious to get as far away from the horde's den as possible.

* * *

Ringblade clambered onto the peak of a tall rock and gazed forward, straining to see the land beyond in the dark of night. He wanted to get his bearings, maybe even a rough idea of the unexplored territory. He had been penned up within the den for seasons, only allowed to loot and kill in the western areas and the coastline. Now, he was free from all that. He was free to kill more. He was free to steal and loot from whoever he wants, whenever he wants. He was free to claim his _own _territory.

The soft glint of water caught his attention. Squinting hard, he made out the flow of a river running from the southeast through the forests on the other side of the big clearing ahead of him. It seemed a long way, but Ringblade knew he could cover a good distance by sunrise if he moved fast now.

Dropping down the rock, the young fox made his way through the open clearing stealthily, constantly looking about him to check that no one was following. Soon he was nothing but a moving dot, the idea of freedom giving him an extra boost of energy. But he knew what he really wanted.

To search the truth…

* * *

**Ok,it's short but at least it's an update. *_UNFORTUNATELY_,this story is in danger of being discontinued due to lack of full-reading and reviews! So if any of you wish to see the ending of this story,please review. Or at the very least,read all the chapters. :) Thank you! R&R**

_**Fleet: Great... I ran away from Redwall and the story's gonna be cancelled?  
Ringblade: C'mon! Reviews are important y'know! Support us please!**_


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